The Carrot Field
by Ignisami
Summary: Where the Plot Bunnies frolick. Rating for safety.
1. The Champion of the Light

**A/N: to all the readers of any of my other work, I have dire news for you. **

**Yesterday afternoon, the 18th day of February, a dastardly villain took from me one of my most prized possessions: my laptop. **

**The laptop containing not only my work for uni, but also my games, downloaded fanfics and my own original work. I had been intending to make a back-up of the last three months today, but... yeah.**

**That means that my notes for Child of the Fox and The Ancients from Alchera are gone, as are the 7 000 words of the next chapter of the former, and 1 400 of the next chapter of the latter. My desire to write the next chapters of either are temporarily gone, and they will be delayed by an indeterminate amount I'm hoping to keep to less than a month. **

**This particular chapter was salvaged from Archiveofourown, where I have another account (biosurge). Slight edits were made to the author's note at the end, and care should be taken to acknowledge the following statement. **

**This chapter is _first-draft _material, folks. Not unlike the other two fics I've got going, but this one hasn't even been vetted for character consistency. **

**Champion of the Light**

The mountains of the Blade's Edge were quite unlike the mountains found in Azeroth. Large, jagged spikes rose from the mountainface at various angles to the rock surrounding its base, the ground was rock and dust, giving the entire area an eerie orange glow if the sun hit it at the right angle, and a desolate ambience at any other angle. The various demons, orcs, gronn, ethereal, and demon-addled native fauna did nothing to address this.

From her vantage point on one of the aforementioned jagged spikes, she could make out two camps of demons, the elegant wooden constructs of a Night Elven settlement – her map called it Sylvanaar in a fit of high irony – the mechanical thingamajistical appearance in the distance – and a fair number of its components were _literally _called thingamajigs, she knew – was the obvious signs of Goblin or Gnomish construction, and the very visible Alliance banner betrayed which of the two it was. She knew a handful of Gnomes and had often lamented the fact that Gnomes were so short-lived. Most of them were really good at brightening up a dreary situation. This particular settlement was called Toshley's Station according to the map she had received from Priestess Ishanah back in Shattrath City, and was unique in the fact that it was the only all-Gnome settlement outside Gnomeregan, the capital city of the Gnomes.

Further still, she saw the portals the ethereal used to set up camps. She hoped they were friendly, or at least _neutral_, but she didn't hold out on a lot of hope. The little she could see, they were playing around with red lightning. Nothing she had encountered so far that used red lightning, as opposed to the standard blue or the uncommon yellow lightning, had ever worked out to her benefit.

"Anything exciting?" a voice, accent thick with what Humans called 'gypsy', yelled from behind her. She turned her head to look at her companion.

"Nothing particularly," she yelled back. These jagged spikes were _large_, and this particular one had to be seven or eight metres. "There's an Kaldorei settlement over yonder," she continued with a finger pointing in the direction of Sylvanaar, "a Gnomish settlement over there," she shifted the pointing finger to indicate Toshley's Station, "an orc camp in between the two, and an Ethereal camp somewhere in the distance."

She paused and gained a false considering expression that did not fool her companion at all. Internally, she pouted. What was the use of living for four thousand years if people could see through your expressions like they were as open as a newborn's?

"There's also the two Legion camps, the nest of Netherwing, and a few gronn here and there," she added with a sigh, and her companion smiled a radiant smile. One would think a figure with more than forty _thousand_ years of life was reserved, but no. At least, this one wasn't. "Figure this is where Gruul makes his lair?" she asked, referring to their unofficial hunt for the lair of the leader of the gronn, massive brutes that stood at seven metres minimum, with rock-like red or brown skin – complete with spiked protrusions –, a single eye, and enough strength to crush a mountain bare-handed. Their leader, Gruul, was known as 'the Dragonkiller', and Dragons were _not _easy to kill.

Fortunately, they were neither smart nor observant. She could boast to felling a gronn in single combat, though it did take several hours and multiple thousands of arrows. Never before had she been so glad as to have shelled out the hefty two thousand gold pieces each for the three Quivers of Holding she carried, quiver-equivalents to the so-called Bag of Holding, a bag with a truly gigantic carrying capacity. Last she heard, someone managed to shove five hundred kilos in a single Bag.

She had three Quivers on her, each filled with no less than three thousand arrows. It took two and a half Quivers to fell the gronn, and it was one of the few kills she made that she allowed herself to feel prideful about.

Her companion nodded in agreement. "This is ideal gronn land. Rocky, rough where it is not, not a lot of water, and a lot of food nearby in the form of the twisted fauna and ogres."

Her eyes swept over the landscape. "Perhaps the Elves or Gnomes know more?" she asked. "And intel on the demon camps here, of course."

"Of course," she agreed. "Let us proceed to Toshley's Station, the Gnomish settlement, then. The longer we avoid the Kaldorei the better."

"Then let's go!" her companion cried in a sudden fit of jubilance and set off down the track to her right. For a few seconds, she watched her companion's tail moving away from her before she cupped her hands around her mouth.

"IT'S THE OTHER WAY!"

– – – –

"Greetings, heroes," the Ancient, Wildlord Antelarion, said amicably to the two well-equipped travelling heroes that had walked into the Cenarion Enclave under his oversight. "Toshley spoke highly of you in his missive. We could use your help."

"Greetings, Wildlord Antelarion," the first of the two, a stately blue-skinned woman wearing heavy plate armour, said. "Toshley informed us of the extent of your plight. We would be glad to help. I am former Exarch Miaal Stormglory."

"Well met, Miaal Stormglory," the Wildlord replied. "The news of you and your companion's willingness to help fills me with joy, for our overarching goals for this area are the neutralization of Forge Camp: Wrath and putting a stop to the summoning operation at Death's Door, neither of which we can accomplish as we are. May I ask for your companion's name?"

"Former Ranger of Quel'Thalas Iluriel Brightrun," the second woman, a fair-skinned elf, introduced herself somewhat tersely.

"It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Iluriel Brightrun. Shall we proceed to business?"

'

"By all means, Wildlord," she agreed.

– – – – _Several decades ago, approximately, somewhere outside the normal flow of time and space – – – _

"This forty-second Special Congregation is now called to order," the giant of a man said in a voice that boomed across this reality, heard only by those who the man wanted to hear. The sinking feeling in his stomach did not carry over to his voice. The Pantheon rarely convened outside the scheduled bicentennial Congregations, and when they did it was generally bad news. Special Congregations called by anyone who was not him were generally _very _bad news, rather than just bad news of normal significance.

"I will now give the word to he who called for this meeting. Norgannon the Dreamweaver, speak your piece."

"I thank you, All-Father," Norgannon replied in the same way as the All-Father before him, though unlike the All-Father, his voice was almost robotic in its lack of emotion and other inflection.

"The problem that led me to call for this meeting is a problem unlike any we have faced before, fellow members of the Pantheon.

"If events are allowed to unfold without our interference, our Prime World will cease to function."

_Damn it all, this is even worse than I thought_, the All-Father said. The Prime World was their finest creation, a prison for the Old God Azatoth and appropriately named Azeroth, their word for prison. Theirs was a conceptual language, so a direct translation to a non-conceptual language was never fully accurate, but the translation of 'azeroth' to 'prison' was more accurate than most others in the vast expanse of Creation.

"I do not doubt your methods, Dreamweaver, but I have to ask for proof," the All-Father said. "If only for the record."

"Very well. As you are aware, one of the abilities granted to me by my mastery of magic allows me to simulate events a significant number of years into the future. However, when I performed such a simulation for the Prime World using current parameters of Prime's inhabitants, they had self-destructed and set loose the Old Gods within fifty years from now."

Norgannon cast a spell that allowed the Pantheon to see the simulation in question, and they did not like what they saw. War led to a tense peace followed by more war and then another war and then _another _war in rapid succession, generating more than enough negative emotions to fuel Azatoth and allow him to break free within the next fifty years.

The All-Father frowned. There was little _worse _than the Prime World falling apart, only eclipsed by the Burning Legion succeeding in killing him. Silently he thanked Norgannon for developing the voice projection spell. A spell was cast on the entire Pantheon, except for him, that allowed his voice to reach their ears wherever they were, and a second spell was cast on him to act as a nexus, relaying the speaker's voice to the others if that speaker was not him. It was very much the magical equivalent of a conference call.

Norgannon was kind enough to build in a 'mute' function, though there was some feedback if people were talking while muted. They could request to be un-muted, of course, but none of them were doing so at the moment.

The outrage emanating from the tone of his Consort, Eonar the Life-Binder, in particular made him wary. Nothing good ever came from females that were _this _angry. Had they still used direct projections as in times past he did not doubt that they would all be deaf right now. Eonar had a very impressive voice when she got going.

"I assume you have a solution, Dreamweaver?" the All-Father asked though he already knew the answer. Norgannon never presented a problem without having a solution ready.

"I do," Norgannon confirmed. "However, I alone do not possess the power to enact this solution as Re-Origination of the Prime World is not an option."

"Then speak your solution, Dreamweaver. I admit to curiosity to this solution that you, the third-strongest of the Pantheon, do not have the power for."

"In a nearby dimension," Norgannon began in his usual emotionless monotone, "there is an as-of-yet unborn halfling that will have the necessary qualities to steer the simulation into the proper path. His name will be Harry Potter, and this is my proposal..."

– – – –

"Aaah, Lady Brightrun and Lady Miaal," the aged Ancient greeted the pair of women amicably. "I assume your return means that the Warp-Gates are out of commission?"

"They are," Iluriel confirmed. "It was far from easy, but we managed."

"Though had we not gone together, we both would surely have perished," Miaal Stormglory added. "The number of demons protecting the Warp-Gates was significantly higher than at any of the other Forge Camps we have encountered since we journeyed here through the Dark Portal."

He nodded. "Forge Camp: Wrath was by far the most significant camp the Expedition has encountered ever since we made our way to Outland, only rivalled by the camp in the north of Hellfire Peninsula, and that is near the Throne of Kil'Jaeden, where Kazzak reigns. We anticipated such resistance as you are describing."

"Which is why you recommended we go together, not that we would have done otherwise had we had another option," Iluriel said. "Miaal and myself have partnered since we entered Outland."

"And this partnership will serve you well in the final task I would request of you," Warden Antelarion said. "With the destruction of the Warp-Gates, the only significant Legion presence in the Blade's Edge Mountains is at Death's Door. Two days from now, we will set out with a party to drive the last of the Legion out of the Blade's Edge. Do you wish to join us?"

Iluriel looked at Miaal with a raised eyebrow. _What do we do?_ Miaal responded likewise and moved her hand slightly left. _I'm not opposed. _

Iluriel raised her left shoulder. _Neither am I. _

Miaal gave a minute shrug. _Let's do this, then._

"We will join you. I'd like to see this through to the end," Iluriel said.

"Likewise," Miaal concurred. "We've been too invested in taking out the Legion's operations here to back out now."

"Very well. Can you give me a more detailed indication of your previous experience so we can take all of your ability into account, not just what you've shown?"

The two looked at each other again, and once again held a silent conversation, and Antelarion was reminded of the bond he shared with his late mate. They could hold, and had held, entire conversations with just their eyes.

"Former Ranger-Brigadier of Quel'Thalas Iluriel Brightrun, mastery of bow, shortsword both single and dual, longsword, and single dagger. Master-level tracking, as is required of any Ranger above Lieutenant. I have dabbled in the Arcane, but stopped four centuries ago following the corruption of a dear friend who did the same. I have at least approximately 750 years of combat experience, give or take a few decades. I stopped counting after the Troll Wars. I retired five hundred years ago."

"That is an impressive track record," the Warden of the Cenarion Expedition Enclave in the Evergrove said, his mind furiously working to accommodate the Ranger's skills in the plan. "Many Sentinels would be jealous. And you, Lady Miaal?"

"Former Exarch and personal guard of the Prophet Velen Miaal Stormglory," she said, formally introducing herself. "As demanded of my position, I have near-absolute command over the magics of the Light, only surpassed by the Prophet Velen and the Naaru. I am skilled with maces, swords, and axes, both one-handed, two-handed, and dual wielded. I additionally have several millennia of leadership experience prior to the Fall in service to the Prophet Velen. I have, give or take, sixty thousand years of combat experience."

"Sixty thousand?" the Warden half-yelled incredulously, and several close by druids of this Cenarion Enclave halted in shock. Even to the Night Elves, sixty thousand years was a_ long_ time. Since it was sixty thousand years of _combat experience_, that meant that Lady Miaal was at least _one hundred and twenty thousand years old_, going by the general assumption that the life of a soldier was at most half-filled with combat, and that was only if Lady Miaal had been nothing but a war-time soldier her entire life. The oldest currently living Night Elves, for example, were Malfurion Stormrage and his brother Illidan, Tyrande Whisperwind, and Maiev Shadowsong, but all four combined did not reach even half of Lady Miaal's age, clocking in at approximately ten thousand years each.

Sixty thousand was almost beyond his comprehension.

"Sixty thousand," Miaal confirmed calmly, her normal exuberance tempered by the knowledge of Eredar in the vicinity. "I was one of the most senior Eredar under the Prophet before the Fall and Exile from Argus. Sargeras has empowered the Eredar that joined him, though I doubt that the Eredar at Death's Door will pose that much of a threat, because the Naaru did the same to the Draenei." She pierced the Warden with a glare. "Do we have the name of this Eredar?"

"We do," the Warden confirmed. "Baelmon Stormshrine."

Miaal gasped, and all eyes turned to her. A war could clearly be seen in her eyes for a few minutes before it subsided, resolve shining in her eyes. Antelarion could have sworn that her eyes were misty with unshed tears, though, and wondered what could make such an aged and wise woman react in such a way. Even if she generally was not as stoic as most beings several millennia old.

"You know this Baelmon Stormshrine?" the Warden asked.

"Yes," Miaal confirmed sadly. "Once upon a time, he was my brother."

– – – –

Harry Potter looked around wildly, a bewildered look in his eyes.

"Where the hell am I?" he asked into the nothing, desperately thinking back on the sequence of events that led to where he was now.

The Demon War had taken fourteen years of gruelling fighting, and he had lost everyone he cared about to the demons or to betrayal. After Daphne was lured away early in the war, had her escorts killed, and herself raped to death, the general consensus among females of all species was to inscribe Holy runes upon themselves and suicide-bomb themselves if demons got their hands on them. It seemed a bit extreme to him, but he wasn't going to complain with the results.

For every suicide bomber that detonated, scores of demons – in three particularly noteworthy cases the detonation took out a hundred thousand – died, and because the detonations were made from pure Holy magic, the demons disintegrated and would never return to the Twisting Nether, the source of all Wizarding magic and apparent birthing ground for demons.

The demons, and satyr especially, stopped specifically targeting females once they realized the explosions were actually Holy magic, not just fancy detonations. It was just a shame that Holy magic could only really be harnessed using Runes. There were records in Atlantis on 'paladins' that were actually channelling Holy magic, but nothing they tried could replicate the feat.

Three years ago, the last of the demons of the Burning Legion were vanquished. All the portals that the demons had opened had been closed. All his friends and loved ones given a proper burial.

He wanted nothing to do with this world anymore, the world whose continued existence could be traced back solely to him. He had stripped Potter Manor empty of everything he wanted to keep, which did not include the bed he was now lying on. It held too memories that were now far too painful. Flashes of blond hair whirling about as Daphne engaged him in a tickle war, a curtain of red as Susan decided that his prank with the connected shower was _not _fun, and chased him like he was anathema to her, and many, many more.

Everything he wanted to take, he stored in his trunk. Books, coin, jewellery, potions, ingredients – in the form of an entire greenhouse, such wonders could be achieved by pushing power into space expansion charms –, and more. It took a lot of power, but that was one thing he never lacked.

The years at the Dursleys pushed him from a normal Wizard to a Rank One Mage. The difference between a Mage and Wizard could essentially be summed up as such; Wizards wielded magic, magic wielded Mages. The metaphysical 'magical core', which didn't actually exist but it was a useful construct to do arithmancy with, was opened up beyond what Wizards, and by extension Witches, were capable of. Some ranks, specifically four, seven, and nine, gave additional gifts, selected at random. Dumbledore gained the Tongue, the ability to speak and comprehend all languages whether magical or not, human or not, _sapient _or not. Voldemort gained Phantamagia, or the art of soul magics, and Cruormagia, the art of blood magics. It should, at this point, be noted that Dumbledore was always capable of tying with Voldemort despite the latter being _three_ ranks higher. He was _that _bad-ass.

A total manipulative asshole, but Harry recognized when someone was extraordinarily skilled, and Dumbledore definitely qualified.

His first encounter with Voldemort in his first year ascended him to Rank Two. The Basilisk to Rank Three. The Tournament to Rank Four, granting him the ability of Phantamagia. The Second War to Rank Seven, which bestowed upon him the Tongue.

Turns out Nargles did exist, by the way, and that the Tongue was an inherited trait in the Lovegood family.

Training to Rank Nine, which 'unlocked' the most fearsome ability in his arsenal. It is one of the few magical talents not recorded in Latin, butchered or otherwise, but in Japanese.

_Arashi_.

Storm.

Lightning, Fire, Wind, Water, and the records indicated that with a _lot _of practice he would be able to influence the Weather directly as well. He was by no means up to that level yet, nor was he all that proficient in anything but Lightning and Fire.

Granted, he didn't think he would have gotten that far if he had not stumbled on the Atlantian Library. He honestly wasn't sure how he had ended up there, something about flooing away from a Killing Curse while not having entered a destination was _definitely _a part of it, but wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The Library of Atlantis was everything it was ever rumoured to be, and his scholastically-inclined friends and family, specifically Tracey Davis, Hermione Granger, Terry Boot, and Bill Weasley, devoured its content as fast as they could.

Meanwhile, Harry tried to investigate the feeling of _home_.

Why did Atlantis feel like home when it hadn't surfaced in thousands of years? Why did he know where to go in Atlantis, even when it was his first time? How was he able to read the Atlantian language without any difficulty?

He never found the answers. He suspected it was because of the same reason he was a Half-Elf, instead of an 'Infinitesimally Small-Elf', but nothing he or any of the others found gave any answers.

Frustrated at his inability to find answers, he threw himself into his Atlantean magical education. Direct manipulation of the Arcane Storms of the Twisting Nether – the knowledge of their manipulation was lost, but the Storms themselves were known to Wizardkind –, Runes, contemporary magic, current magic, everything that he could get his hands on in those six years was studied and trained. He didn't get as far as he'd have liked, but he supposed that it was his own fault for smashing all the time turners back when he fought the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries' Hall of Prophecy.

When Voldemort reappeared six years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry was surprised, but _far _from unprepared.

The Global Blood War was nasty, but compared to the Second Blood War it was rather tame. Perhaps because he did not have quite the emotional connection to the Global Blood War as he had to the British Blood War.

The Demon War changed that.

– – – –

"Greetings everyone, I hope you rested well," Wildlord Antelarion said seriously to the congregation of forty of the Evergrove's finest, bolstered by the exceptional pair of heroes that had done so much for not just the Evergrove, but also the Cenarion Expedition as a whole. "Today is the day we end the Legion threat in the Blade's Edge Mountains!"

Grim expressions settled on everyone present. "Our target, as you are all aware, is Baelmon Stormshrine, the Houndmaster. He is currently at Death's Door summoning Wrath-hounds, and is the last significant Legion operative in the region. You have all been briefed on the plan of attack."

Antelarion looked over the forty-two chosen for this conflict. How many would perish in this fight? How many would he never see again? How many would return to Nature's Embrace?

"Today we march to quell the demons in the Blade's Edge. To return a semblance of peace to a section of Outland."

Miaal Stormglory had heard motivational speakers that had much better choice of words, but Wildlord Antelarion made up for his shortcomings in eloquence with enhanced body language.

"Today, the blood of demons will stain the ground red," the Wildlord finished, clenching a fist in front of him. "Move out."

Forty-two voices cried affirmatives in unison, and forty-three sets of feet set out for Death's Door.

– – – –

Fourteen years of bloody struggle. All his friends dead and gone. All his loved ones dead and gone.

All that remained was for him to leave as well, but he had no intention of dying just yet. It took him three years to figure out a way. Three years in which he almost gave in to his grief, three years of mourning.

His solution was surprisingly simple; a portal with no set end, the only condition to its location that its end-point not be the Twisting Nether.

Naturally, he should have realized that _something _was going to go wrong.

The portal led to a place he had never, _ever_, seen or even imagined in his wildest dreams, which were pretty wild because of his intimate link to Magic.

The floor was as glass, the walls seemed to be non-existent, and the decorations appeared to be galaxies floating around in the inky black void of space. Needless to say, the floor, walls, and ceiling themselves were invisible due to being perfectly transparent with a black background.

"Greetings, designate Harry Potter," the disembodied voice said straight into his mind. Harry looked around, but found nothing but the galaxies keeping him company.

"Wha?" Harry said intelligently into the dark. "Who are you?"

A flash of light temporarily blinded him. When he had regained his vision, he saw a giant leg in front of him, so he looked up.

And up. And up. And up.

His jaw fell to the floor. Just how big was this guy?

"I shall assume a form more conductive to communication," the platinum-skinned giant wearing blue robes said in a dull monotone. Another blinding flash of light engulfed his vision, and when it was once again returned, Harry gaped at seeing a platinum-skinned version of his old friend Hagrid, lost to a demon rush during the Demon War a decade or so ago. The only other physical difference was the hair colour, this giant having platinum coloured hair versus his old friend's black hair.

"Allow me to introduce myself to facilitate communication. My name is Norgannon the Dreamweaver, Keeper of Arcane Magic and Knowledge of the Titan Pantheon."

– – – –

Her blue eyes gazed at the red abomination a dozen metres in front of her. Her gauntlet creaked, and she released some of the tension in right fist. She'd learned the hard way that she was strong enough to bend the steel of her armour without a strength enhancement on her.

Malevolent red eyes found her own, and a hint of amusement flickered within them.

"My dearest sister," his said in the Eredar's standard booming voice. "Just in time to join the festivities."

"You no longer have the right to call me sister," she ground out through gritted teeth. "And what festivities? What depravity are you planning?"

"Since you'll no longer be alive in short order, I don't see any harm in telling you," he responded in that cheeky way she'd always found irritating, even before the Exile. "I was about to summon the Legion's greatest enemy, then bind him to our cause. And you know what the best part is, dearest sister?"

She was pretty certain that the gnashing of her teeth could be heard across the rest of Outland, but asked anyway. _Greatest enemy of the Legion... Lord Velen? Lady Whisperwind? Lady Alexstrasza? Either would be bad._ Something like this could usually be taken advantage of. One bolt of Light at the right time... "What?"

"There's absolutely nothing you can do! _Come forth from the Nether, Our Greatest Foe, and be bound to Our will!_"

Miaal was running the moment he started chanting in Eredun, but she realized that she wouldn't make it in time. Light shrouded her hands, the glorious golden glow of purity coming to her aid once more. "_Destruction of the wicked, cleansing of the impure! _Holy Shock!"

She didn't often revert to either the partial or full incantation, but this was a scenario where she needed to get as much power out as fast as she could, and very little was stronger _and_ faster than an incanted Holy Shock. There was Flash of Light, but that was not a spell she could use for offence.

The bolt of Light left her hands and impacted upon her erstwhile brother – along with two arrows from Iluriel – just as he finished the incantation. "Damn it! Too slow!"

The large portal, a smaller version of the infamous Dark Portal in the Hellfire Peninsula, glowed a bright green before it suddenly collapsed, leaving a single new presence that neither she nor the Eredar had expected.

Miaal thought he was sort-of cute in a rugged way, what with that scar running vertically across his cheek, the blazing emerald eyes, scraggy black hair, and powerful build. At least, powerful for a Human.

For the figure was definitely Human. Not Elven, because the ears was small and round. Not draconic, because of a distinct lack of horns. And absolutely not Draenic, because of a) the lack of horns, b) the lack of goat-feet that were a result of evolving on Argus, c) the slightly paler than Human standard pink skin, d) the obvious absence of a tail. He wore little but a necklace with a trunk-like ornament and some undergarments. Not that _she _would have noticed much if the latter was gone, because part of the training for being an Anchorite – one of the many steps towards an Exarch – consisted of full-contact mixed gender combat in the nude. They who complained were dismissed from the program.

"That should have summoned Tyrande," the Eredar said, confirming her earlier thoughts on the intended target. "No matter. Slave!" he bellowed, and the Human jerked upright and looked around with a calculating gaze.

Somehow, Miaal got the impression that this Human had not been swayed by the mind-bending inherent to such rituals. The Eredar pointed at the group of Cenarion Expedition members, Iluriel, and herself. "Destroy them!"

The Human turned shrewd eyes upon them, and she recognized the look of a war veteran. "Ambient Conditions level S recognized," the Human began in a droning tone, the kind she had only ever heard from the mechanical constructs in Gnomeregan. "Limiter levels 3, 2, and 1 released. All constraints released. Initiating Archon transformation."

**A/N:  
**

Proceed to open a can of whoop-ass on Baelmon.

Harry is the Prophecied 'Champion of the Light'. This will eventually get finished and turned into a proper story, but for now this is where it'll end. The mentioned Archon transformation is essentially the Wizard skill from Diablo 3.

This is my preliminary answer to the question 'what if Harry lands in the Warcraft universe in a place that isn't Felwood?'

Path for future chapters:

BC content, up to and including the Assault on the Sunwell would be addressed, but some original story lines (politics, and some especially after the Sunwell, when the Dragons are aware of Harry's presence, which thoroughly mucks up the magical balance of Azeroth) have already been thought of. Then; Northrend, where things really go SNAFU. Turns out that the Lich process is (to the surprise of absolutely no one!) soul magic, which was Harry's first Mage Gift.

As a result, the Lich King *really* wants Harry dead.

Please do alert me if you start a story with this idea, so I can link people to it.


	2. The Ties That Bind

**A/N: Naruto idea again. Whether something goes wrong with Sasuke's jutsu at the end or not depends on your interpretation. This one could just as easily be a crossover as it could not. Title refers to Naruto's bonds, without which the plan couldn't work at all. I reserve the title for eventual self-use.  
**

**The Ties That Bind**

Two figures stood at opposite ends of what was once a large valley. Their hair reflected their attitude. On the left, near the giant statue of the straight-haired man, stood a boy with blond hair, his face set into a determined scowl. He had always seen the best in people, had always looked upon a bright future, and never allowed himself to reflect upon the darkened past. He represented the Dawn. An era of prosperity, of peace through cooperation.

On the right, near a similar statue of a shaggy-haired man whose mane, for that was the proper word for this kind of hairstyle, reached his hips, stood another boy whose locks were akin to the raven. He had always hungered for power, and sought it in the darkness. Through near-unparalleled hatred he found the power he sought, to attain the revenge so long desired. He had upgraded his clan's special eyes to its highest point, and could call upon the power of the gods to aid him in combat. He represented the Dusk. An era of fear, of peace through dread of alternatives.

And whatever it was would be decided by the outcome of this battle. The Dawn had never sought to kill, but if he needed to, he would. He was, despite what people thought, no stranger to killing. He despised doing so, however, and still had second thoughts about his few kills despite them being slavers and rapists.

The Dawn and Dusk clashed. Nine planetoid satellites, containing nine terrifyingly powerful beings, watched as their chosen champion went head-to-head with the one who had stolen most of their power from the Dawn and sealed it away, along with the consciousness of eight of them.

The Dawn and Dusk separated and found themselves at either end of the valley. Energy gathered around the two, and while the Dawn coalesced his around him, augmenting his body and attacks, the Dusk lanced it out towards the nine planetoids, taking all of their power into himself for but a few moments.

The Dusk would have liked to infuse himself with the energy like the Dawn was doing, but it was simply too much energy to be contained so he did the next best thing. He projected it around himself, forming a Samurai-armoured figure around himself using naught but his own energy, keeping the energy of the planetoids in reserve for a last-ditch attack.

The Dawn, having taking the energy of Mother Nature and infusing himself with it, charged up his own attack. More poetically-inclined viewers, had there been any, would have described it as that moment of absolute silence before the explosion.

The Dusk formed the energy of the planetoids in the shape of an arrow made out of lightning, using his personal store of energy to furnish the bow. He took aim.

The Dawn had taken the time to use manipulate his own energy to form the Truth-Seeking Balls, the balls that sought to determine the absolute truth about everything they touched. In practice, this meant that they returned everything they touched to its base atomic composition. The energy, _chakra_, was no exception despite not consisting of atoms. The Dusk knew to counter the Truth-Seeking Balls, however, and the Dawn knew that the Dusk knew this, so the Dawn infused some of his own energy, part of it attuned to wind, part of it attuned to lightning, into the two Balls he formed. This would counter whatever the Dusk would do to nullify his Truth-Seeking Balls.

The Dusk released the arrow at the same time that the Dawn threw his pair of element-enhanced Balls. Just before impact, the Dawn shot two lances of chakra containing trace amounts of the chakra from each of the beings captured inside the nine planetoids before combat began into the two spheres he had thrown, dangerously destabilizing them both. He wasn't aiming to burst through the arrow and kill the Dusk, he was aiming to stop the arrow.

**"****Sage Art of the Nine: Heaven, Earth, and Man's Lament,**" the Dawn uttered softly the very instant the arrow struck.

The explosion that followed was of a scale heretofore unseen in the history of the planet. Not even the civilization before the Sage of Six Paths had ever seen an explosion of such magnitude, and they had access to the terrifying power of anti-matter explosives. It was visible was hundreds of miles away and drew gasps from everyone watching just before the heat and shockwave smashed into them and drove the air from their lungs.

Neither the Dawn nor Dusk showed any sign of being bothered by it except for the closing of their eyes to ward off the brightness.

Two seconds later, they fell over.

"I definitely used too much chakra," the Dusk said, a hand covering his left eye. "I can't control my left eye properly."

The left eye of the dusk was permanently locked in the most advanced state of his clan's special eyes, the **Sharingan**, or Copy Wheel Eye. It was at a stage that gave him limited control over _Creation itself_, and was appropriately named the **Rinne Sharingan**, or Samsara Copy Wheel Eye. He had not trained in its use since he received it, however, and he now paid the price for the non-stop combat he had been in since its awakening.

It ate power like an Akimichi ate food. In other words, the proper adjective would be 'inhaled'. He lacked the fine control needed to revert the eye to a less powerful state, and knew that it would either kill him, or bring him close to death's door.

He coughed, and blood spat forth from his mouth. He gingerly felt his chest, and coughed again when he touched one particular rib. _Damnit, it pierced my lung._

He closed his eyes. _This world is doomed. Without myself to keep the villages focused on a single enemy, the world will fall into anarchy and war. But perhaps another _can _be saved. _

"Naruto."

"Yes, Sasuke?" Naruto was far too close for comfort. Sasuke opened his eyes to see his blond adversary standing two metres away from him. _Perfect. Not too close, not too far. As it stands, I don't have enough time to select a dimension and not enough personal bonds to get the right one without selection. Funny that the very things that define us make me less than ideal for what I'm about to do. _

"This world is doomed, Naruto. No, let me finish," he implored, the closest thing he would ever come to begging, when he noticed Naruto open his mouth. "This world is doomed. Without a central polarizing figure to unite the villages, there will be no peace. Not for this world, at least."

"This world?" Naruto asked hesitantly. Sasuke supposed he could see the point of his hesitance, but it implied that Naruto had intelligence that he had not been aware of. That was good.

"Yes," he confirmed. "With the **Rinne Sharingan**, I can send people and other objects into other dimensions of my own creation. Naturally, these dimensions need not be created by myself."

"You mean something like the many-worlds theory the tech summoners use?"

His right eyebrow raised. Naruto had never struck him as the most intelligent or knowledgeable type, but perhaps he had improved over the past few years after all? "Indeed," he said, stretching his hand. "Take it."

"What are you doing?" Naruto asked as Sasuke suddenly balled his hand and rammed his fist into the seal on Naruto's stomach. "HMPH!"

Crimson chakra flowed from Sasuke into Naruto, and the consciousnesses associated with the chakra joined it. Fortunately, the seal grafted into his adversary's stomach was a seal enhanced with the Death God's touch. Sasuke was sure this wouldn't work otherwise. "Fortunately," Sasuke continued as if nothing had happened, "there is an alternative. Economy.

"Too much has been destroyed now to implement this here, but in this new world you will have the chance to forge economic ties between each of the five villages. Once the villages are interdependent, peace should last. And, as much as I hate to admit it, your outlook will be better for the task than mine."

"Wait, what?"

"Goodbye, Naruto. **Amenominaka**."

As vortex opened in the air directly above Naruto , who tried to get away. He wasn't fast enough.

As Uchiha Sasuke fell back to the ground, dead from chakra exhaustion, Naruto vanished, and would never be seen in this world again.


	3. The Thunder Dragon

Great wings beat a steady rhythm through the air, ferrying the gargantuan reptile to which they were attached from his mountain den to the main square. It was not visible, unless one was very familiar with this particular sentient reptile, but he was worried. There had not been a summons of all the Dragon Clans in _centuries_.

Even more worrisome, this summons had been handed out by the one Clan the Dragon King dare not touch. The _Tokiryuu_, the dragons of the Clan of Time, were the only group more revered in draconic society, what was left of it anyway, than even the venerable Tenryuu, the Clan of the Sky. The healers.

Just the fact that it wasn't the Dragon King that summoned them was troubling enough. That the Time Dragons had issued the call to gather…

The last time that had happened, there had been war.

He spotted the massive open plain used for gathering like these some two, maybe two and a half, kilometers down and one ahead, and initiated his descent.

Halfway through, he felt a presence next to him and allowed himself a brief smile. "You appear to be as healthy as a drake, Igneel," he greeted the leader of the Fire Dragons amicably.

"You're not doing too bad yourself either, Raiu," the Great Red returned in kind.

"Thank you, old friend. What do you make of the summons?"

The Fire Dragons appreciated directness, much the same way that Fire did not hide its destructive intent. Skirting around the issue would have only done more harm than good, and dealing with his old friend usually was a breath of fresh air compared to the verbal battle that was dealing with the other Clans. Except for the Metal Clan, often mistakenly called the Steel Clan. No matter who of their number you spoke, you walked away with a headache from their arrogance and general stubbornness.

"Nothing good," Igneel replied grimly, the grimace on his face distending an old lightning-bolt scar on his cheek. "The Custodians of Time are not known to meddle in the affairs of the rest of us, and to _summon_ all of us when there's nothing going horribly wrong? My scales itch, and that's never a good portend."

"No, it is not," he agreed. "Do you think we've got another round coming up?"

"Probably. With our reduced numbers the chance of it being another Dragon-Human war is low, so it could only be a human conflict or issue that spreads to us if left unchecked, and us apprenticing humans is just about the only way the Laws allow us to interfere after we decided to banish ourselves."

"True," he said grimly as they neared the plain. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"By all means," Igneel agreed, and manipulated his wings for the final approach.

Thirty-eight dragons had gathered here, forty with himself and Igneel, who were among the last to arrive.

The Eight, the leaders of the premiere dragon clans, stood in a half-circle inside the larger half-circle formed by the other thirty-two. Raiu and Igneel, representing two of the Eight, stood amongst them, and once again they saw one of the reasons why they disliked such summons greatly. Age and size were very important in draconic politics, and were often a source of fierce pride. There were none more prideful or powerful than the Dragon King… yet none older or bigger than Igneel or himself. The blue-scaled Oceanus, the leader of the Water Clan, came the closest, but not even he passed beyond their shoulders.

With a dragon as fierce and prideful as Acnologia as King… their presence usually did more harm then good. They could not _not _answer a summons by the Time Clan, though.

Another pair of wingbeats heralded the arrival of the last two dragons the conclave had been waiting for. The black-scaled and heavily scarred Acnologia, the Slayer of Dragons, the Man Turned Dragon, and quite possibly the Most Power Dragon Ever, flew slightly below and in front of a dragon that was more akin to a drake – an adolescent in human terms – than a dragon. Yet, despite his lack of size, _none _commanded more respect than this little bronze-scaled dragon.

For he was the dragon that led the brood that kept the timeline intact. His dragons were responsible for solving paradoxes, for seeing into the future _and _past, and probably for a whole lot more that had never been shared outside the Time Brood.

For he was Nozdormu, the Bronze.

"It's that time of year again," an aged man said with a weary sigh to his companion. Around them, on the shelves of the office of the aged man in which they were currently standing, were silvery artefacts that made constant noise. As they should be.

The companion nodded. "It is, Headmaster. The two-year anniversary of the Dark Lord's downfall."

The man hesitated. "How is the boy?"

"He's safe from magical threats, and he should be adequately guarded against non-magical threats, but one never knows for certain. I was going to check up on him later today, as a matter of fact. Would you like to accompany me?"

The man pursed his lips. "No thank you, Headmaster. Arrongance seems in the Potter genes, and I wouldn't be surprised if _his _son, not even four years, managed to be the same."

"He is also _her _son, though," he emphasized the connection to the boy's mother, who was quite possibly the least arrogant person any of them knew. "Are you sure you do not wish to join me on this little jaunt?" the aged man said with a _look_ at the younger male over his half-moon glasses.

"I am certain, Headmaster, that I do not," the dark-haired young man, barely out of his twenties, declared firmly.

"Very well then. I will see you tomorrow at the breaking of the fast."

"Until tomorrow, Headmaster."

As the dark-haired man left the office, shortly followed by the aged Headmaster, neither noticed that two of the many artefacts had stopped producing sound.

"Welcome, one and all, to this most esteemed conclave," Nozdormu said from his position on the raised dais that was the focus of the half-circle of the Grand Forty-One, as the assembly of leaders was called.

"As many of you have correctly surmised, the moment has arrived in which the last apprentices will be made known."

Last apprentices? That sounded… ominous, and not at all to his liking. Oceanus shifting a little to his right and Mistral shivering a little to his left proced that he wasn't the only one to think that.

"This instance, however, there is significant temporal influence on the choice of new Slayers. If it were a simple matter of informing one and all of the names and locations of each apprentice, I would not have bothered calling this conclave."

Raiu had never dealt much with Time Dragons before, but they tended to speak in much more clouded language than this. 'Adversity lies before you, while the end lies behind', 'seldom does the blood moon rise', and other sentences like that. This was as far from clouded language they'd have to sift through as they could get. It troubled him far more than he was willing to admit.

"Six Children will require special guidance. The Child of the Earth will have to be a bastion, indomitable in his disposition no matter the threats he faces or the challenges he overcomes. Lord Terra, your son will be found at mid-day on the twentieth day of the seventh month of the current human year on Earthland."

Terra nodded in acceptance.

"Lord Igneel, your son will be the sole survivor of a massacre by the Cult of Zeref," Lord Nozdormu spoke, and almost everyone let out low growls at the mention of that hated name. "You will find him at the onset of dusk on the twenty-third day of the eighth month of the current human year on Earthland."

Igneel nodded as well.

"Instill within him a love of battle, and do not encourage him to get his emotional intelligence up to standard. Friendship will bolster him, love will annihilate him."

Igneel nodded again, but with more hesitation in the movement. Dragons of the flame, the premiere example being Igneel, did not like emotions being stunted, for emotions were one of the purest ways to express the passion of the flame in their opinion. But the Time Dragons commanded, so it _had to be done._ Not because of any inherent magical authority those dragons had, unlike the Dragon King, but because if they didn't, _time would destabilize_, and everything would be un-made.

None of them wanted that. Even so, Igneel was busy figuring out a loophole. He may prefer the direct approach, as do all Fire Dragons, but that did not mean he was unskilled in the more subtle aspects of draconic life.

"Lord Oceanus. There is a young human girl with the second-highest recorded Water affinity in Earthland's history. Even at the young age of three, she causes rain to fall everywhere. You will find her seven Earthland days from now near the orphanage in Margaret Town. You are free to raise her however you like, but it is preferable if her intelligence is above-average when you are eventually recalled. Our condition is that she is raised primarily in the area of Oak Town."

Oceanus nodded.

"Lady Mistral, your daughter, Grandeeney, is to take in the human infant known as Wendy Marvell three Earthland human weeks from now. Like Oceanus, she is free to be raised however Grandeeney wants to raise her, and similar to Oceanus we demand that she is raised in a particular location, the exact position of which we will make known to her and her alone."

Mistral nodded.

"Lord Metallicana, you will find your son in the same orphanage as Lord Oceanus. He must be raised to be a suitable Heir in personality, even if he will never inherit the Lordship of Metal."

"Thy will be done," Metallicana replied, breaking protocol by talking out of turn. Then again, Metal Dragons always had been arrogant bastards.

"And last, Lord Raiu," Nozdormu said. "You will find your child on Earth twenty-two. Several luxuries, including a temporal displacement chamber, will be made available to you because of the delicate nature of your child. No less than three worlds, specifically Earth-22, Earthland, and Edolas, depend upon it. Other Children will aid yours in this endeavour, but it will be _your _Child that is the lynchpin."

That was about as unsubtle as Time Dragons could get. The only ambiguous statement was the fate of the three worlds.

Raiu nodded.

"Your child will be recognizable by the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The exact location and time will be made known to you later today."

Read: where no one could overhear them. It was just his luck to get a Temporal Lynchpin, which was exactly what it sounded like, as a student.

Now… why did the Bronze call for the conclave? Why did they not inform them all of such in private, as was traditional? Nothing he had heard required an conclave to be announced. Perhaps one of these six was destined not to be interrupted during training?

Perhaps it was nothing, but the Time Dragons did not do _anything _without purpose.

"What do you mean, he's _gone?_" the aged Headmaster said with a very pointed look – enhanced by a little magic and a natural pointy nose – to the stern-faced woman at the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging in the London suburb of Surrey.

"That is exactly what I mean, Headmaster Dumbledore, " the woman said with no little disdain in her voice. "He's gone. No longer here. Vanished. Do I need more words to describe the situation?"

"No, you do not," Dumbledore said, struggling to get himself calmed down.

This was bad.

"Do you know how it happened, Petunia?"

"No," she swiftly and firmly denied. "I was knocking on his door to wake him up for breakfast. When he had not showed after five minutes, uncharacteristically long for him, I opened the door and found that he was no longer there. The window was closed and locked, as every night, and there were no other traces of how he could have disappeared, as all other windows in the house were still locked as well, and the front door was intact and locked."

Dumbledore scowled. This was not something he, or the Wizarding World, needed at the moment.

Before Petunia could react, Dumbledore had drawn his wand and pointed it between her eyes. "_Legillimens._"

His eyes roamed over the strange hallway, the walls adorned with clocks. The floor was made from sand, and the ceiling decorations consisted of fractal patterns, seven-dimensional figures, and other images that hurt his brain just by looking at them.

He averted his eyes and continued to the location where Nozdormu said his contact would be. In his mind, he went over the normal courtesies when dealing with Time Dragons.

The first rule of the Time Dragons was that all non-Time Dragons had to assume a human form at all times while in Time Dragon territory. This was to prevent damage to several crucial parts of machinery.

The second rule of the Time Dragons was that whatever happened in the Halls of Time _stayed_ in the Halls of Time unless specific permission was granted to the contrary. For obvious reasons, this rarely happened. Magical protections that not even the Dragon King could pierce were cast on the visitor's mind to ensure that the secrets of the Halls remained secret.

The third, and last, rule was unimportant for him, for it concerned those that were sent into the past to aid the Bronze with repairing the timestream, because some people thought it funny to irreparably damage Time.

Raiu often thought that these saboteurs did not understand that if Time on _one _world broke, Time on _all _worlds broke.

Perhaps his Child was supposed to put a final end to such saboteurs?

He spotted an approaching figure in the distance and stopped this line of thought. He had arrived.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Lord Raiu," Soridormi said when the distance between the two had closed. Soridormi had also assumed a human form, and he silently thanked her for it.

Dragonkind, from the smallest welp to the largest wyrm – the latter was quite literally himself – was quite a bit larger than any human.

"Nozdormu hinted at the identity of my Child as a Temporal Lynchpin, Lady Soridormi," he replied.

"And it is so," she answered. "due to extenuating circumstances, we have retrieved your Child for you and prepared him for your arrival."

He nodded nervously.

"You look unnerved," Soridormi observed. "How so, Lord Raiu?"

"The Time Dragons have never, in my full millennium of experience with them, been as direct as they have the past three days," he admitted. "I admit it is causing quite a bit of nervousness."

"Understandable," Soridormi replied. "We do trend towards more prophetic sayings. However, for good or ill, the apprentices will be the last Dragon Slayers in existence. The Mists are closing, Lord Raiu, and the Slayers will determine whether they are successful."

"Brilliant," he grumbled. "Can you take me to the Child?"

What, by Zeref's accursed name, were the Mists? He was _old_, but he didn't know everything. He wasn't a scholar like Tatsumaki, the Lord of the Wind Clan, or Mistral, Lady of the Sky Clan, were.

"Naturally," Soridormi. "The question you wanted to ask was '_will_ you take me to the Child', to which the answer is once again yes."

_Then why be such a smartass about it? _

The pair set off through the Halls. "The time dilation room, originally called a Hyperbolic Time Chamber in the manga that prompted its recreation here, allows for up to three individuals to spend one Earthland year in one day, up to a maximum of three days outside. Before you ask, no, I cannot grant you more than that even if I wished to. More than three days destabilizes the temporal presence of the individuals inside and they are _un-made_."

"There is a clock inside, I presume?"

"What is a clock?" Soridormi asked with a philosophical lilt to her voice. "But yes, there is a way to keep track of time while inside. It is fairly obvious as well."

Raiu nodded. "Can the Chamber simulate environments?"

"No, it cannot. It is a near-endless white plain with a single habitable construct. Its food supply is sourced from all over Creation, so you can have a Royal Feast every day and not run out."

"That doesn't sound very appropriate for a growing human. Humans thrive on social contact."

"True, but this human has _suffered._ Despite a promise, this Child has been horrendously treated at the hands of his caretakers for the past two years. You will need these three years to break through his initial emotional barriers." She stopped and looked him straight in the eye. "I do not recommend changing into a dragon in front of him while less than five hundred metres away. "

"I have my work cut out for me, then," he mused as the resumed walking. "Good. I always loved a challenge."

"There is only one other condition before entry into the Chamber is allowed."

"Which is?"

"Any vengeance you may wish to seek after you have learned of the child's circumstances is the _child's _to attain."

He frowned and mentally revised what he knew of the kid he was about to unofficially adopt. Soridormi had said that this human had suffered, with great emphasis on that word. That meant, at the very least, emotional and physical neglect. Maybe emotional abuse as well. She had mentioned not to change into his draconic form in front of the child unless far away, which suggested an aversion to big living things close-by. Taken to its logical extreme, that meant that someone of significant size, for a human, had been close to the boy in close proximity and that the association was not…. Good.

Oh sweet spirits. Not that. Anything _but _that.

"I see you have realized the true reason why you would need three years, Lord Raiu. Yes."

Blessed Mother of Creation. He had half a mind to just bolt and tear those humans a new one, probably several new ones, but then he realized the clever game the Time Dragons had been playing.

_They _had collected the Child. Not him. That meant that he didn't know where the Child lived.

That meant that he didn't know where _those monsters_ resided.

"Well played," he congratulated her as they turned a corner and came upon a simple, unassuming bronze door. There were intricate carvings on the door, but _everything _here was covered in intricate carvings so it didn't stand out.

"Thank you," she said. "This is the Chamber. Wait here, while I obtain the Child."

He nodded, and settled down to wait.

"That was possibly the most vile thing I have ever witnessed. Lily would be ashamed," Dumbledore said sadly, his disappointment almost a tangible presence.

Beneath that, barely-veiled outrage. This was not how family, no matter how reviled the targeted member, treated each other!

Even when his father turned out to be a homosexual after all they had never treated him with anything other than the respect a father, the head of the house both magical and domestic, deserved. Granted, a lot of that was because he had already engendered an Heir, a Spare, and a daughter, but it was the principle of the matter that counted.

But this opened doors. This, he could use.

After all, the magical laws applied to human beings, whether non-magical or otherwise. With their actions, these monsters were no longer human, and as such he no longer had ethical reasons to hold back.

With a swift flick of his wand he silenced Petunia as she was screaming something along the lines of 'don't you dare mention her name!' and started planning a few spells that his followers would never believe he was capable of casting, if they had known he had existed.

Had they really thought about it, they would have realized his benign grandfather act was just that, an _act_. It was brought about by his desire to never kill again, true, and it was an act he was determined to play until he died, true, but that didn't mean that Albus Dumbledore, the man who defeated Gellert Grindelwald back in 1945 and the only man that Tom Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort, ever feared was _dead_.

Just hidden.

With another flick of his wand, he bound Petunia and levitated her inside, where he sat himself down, waiting for her husband and son to wake up on this Hallow's Morn.

They would regret their treatment towards their nephew.

Confident, curious, golden-yellow eyes gazed into brilliant emerald-green eyes that radiated nothing but pain and _hurt_.

Raiu had to resist growling. No Child, especially a three-and-a-half year old one, should know what 'hurt' felt like.

"So, who are you, little guy?" he asked in as soothing a voice as he could muster.

The Child wilted in the arms of Soridormi, who carried him, and muttered something. Had he not been a dragon, and his senses far above par even in human form, he would have missed the terrified mutter.

"F..Freak."

His eyes swept up to Soridormi, who seemed as outraged as he felt. That settled part of a long-standing theory about Time Dragons and their emotional development.

"His name is Harry Potter," Soridormi said in a tone that screamed of forced neutrality. "Son of James Potter and Lily Potter née Evans, their passing two years hence a tragic event in more than one way."

"H…" Both of them immediately felt the words on their tongues die at the Child's attempt to speak.

"Harry P-Potter?"

Soridormi nodded. "That is your name, young one," she said soothingly to the Child.

"Harry Potter," the Child repeated cautiously, as if tasting the words on his tongue. "I like."

They both gained pleased smiles. It would have been _wrong_ on so many levels to have a Child with a perfectly ordinary name hate that name, a name he suspected was not the Child's full magical name.

Harry was a rather ordinary name, one not out of place at a farm, yet the name 'Harry Potter' had portends of _Power_.

Spirits above.

The Child's full, magical name was an actual True Name.

"W-Why 'm I here?"

Raiu looked into the Child's eyes, and was pleased to see that the Child made an effort to hold his gaze, even if it didn't last long before he withdrew into Soridormi's arms once more. Despite everything, there was steel in this one's spine.

"Because you need to be trained, young one," Raiu said gently.

"T-Trained?"

Raiu nodded. "You need to be strong, young Harry," he said. "And you will have to be faster than I would like."

"C-Can So-Sori…"

"Soridormi," Soridormi said, clearly enunciating each syllable.

"Sorido… Soridormi?"

She nodded with a pleased smile on her face, encouraging Harry to continue. "C-Can Soridormi stay?" he asked timidly.

Soridormi's first instinct was to decline, despite how attached she had become to the Child in such a short time. There were rules regarding apprenticeships, and they called for _one _master and _one _student.

Yet, she could see that the Child had, even in these short twenty minutes, started looking up to her as one would a mother, and for a Child this important she felt sure she could justify bending the rules. The pain in her heart had _absolutely nothing _to do with it. She raised her eyes to meet those of Raiu.

"Normal apprenticeship rules state that it is limited to _one _master and _one _apprentice," Raiu said simply.

"Indeed," Soridormi agreed. "But that does not indicate _company_. If I do not teach him our ways, then it would not intrude."

"Sneaky. I like it."

"I thought you would," she agreed. "To open the door, you need to channel magic into the third, fifth, and thirteen indent, counting from top to bottom."

"Magic?" Harry asked with wide eyes.

"Yes, Harry," Raiu said, raising his fist and encasing it with lightning. "Magic."

Harry's eyes widened even more, and he reached out with a small hand to touch the lightning, but Raiu extinguished it before he could do so, earning a whine from Harry.

"No touching the lightning, Harry. I will teach you how to create it yourself," he said, and Harry's eyes lit up with childish excitement. Internally, Raiu sighed in relief. It seemed those monsters hadn't done irreparable damage to the Child's psyche. Without further ado, Raiu channeled some magic into the three designated spots, and the door slowly swung open.

Harry whimpered a little at the bright white light emerging from the door.

"Ssh, little Harry, it's going to be fine," Soridormi said with a little coo. She turned to Raiu.

"Let's go."


	4. The Void Familiar

**ZnT this time, folks, and Louise summons a void fox. Plans for potential future installments include actually important familiar-noble bonds, a deep examination of void magic and its relation to normal magic, and much more. **

**As the summoned creature is a fox and thus incapable of wielding weapons, the Gandalfr belong to another nation and the lazy can just substitute the Mjodvitnir with Gandalfr. The void fox summoned is the Windalfr instead.**

* * *

Spring was always an enjoyable time at the Tristrain Academy of Magic. Flowers bloomed, the spring-time birds re-started their chorus, interrupted at the fall the previous year, and the mood in general improved as the weather did.

It was also the time of year when the second-year students of the Academy underwent their rite of passage; the Springtime Familiar Summoning Ritual, where the students lance a request into the magical aether to obtain, as the name implies, a familiar. Usually, this is some sort of normal animal, like a mouse, mole, or frog. More powerful mages can summon things like griffins, dragons, and even floating eyeballs called 'bugbears'.

The only recorded non-animal familiar occurred six thousand years agoo, when the Founder of the Brimiran Nations, Tristrain, Germania, Albion, Romalia, and Galle, a man-turned-God who went by the name of Brimir had at least two human familiars. Legend says that he had an _Elf_ as one of his familiars, though many doubted the veracity of such claims.

Not even Brimir could tame Elves.

Normally, the Springtime Summoning Ritual, despite its importance in the general lives of the nobles of Tristrain, was an event that was usually only followed in-person by the students and Academy staff. Under normal circumstances, members of the second, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, _and _eighth most powerful noble families would not be summoning familiars, and there was, as such, no chance to obtain blackmail.

However, since these families _were_ summoning familiars, nobles all across Tristrain had taken time out of their busy schedules to attend the summoning, and make a social gathering out of it while they were gathered anyway. This included the two members of the royal house, both of which were good friends with the second-most powerful family of Tristrain, the house of de la Valière.

On the evening before the ritual, a young woman of seventeen years was softly crying into her bedsheets. Tomorrow she would once again fail at magic in front of not only the students of the Academy, but also her mother, Karin 'the Heavy Wind' de la Valière, but also her childhood playmate, the Princess Henrietta. And if all that wasn't enough, she was going to embarrass her family name so bad in front of all the other nobles of Tristrain that she would possibly be kicked out of the family, for who had ever heard of a noble who couldn't cast magic?

She would possibly never see Cattleya, her sister, ever again. She would never see Henrietta again. She would never see the few people she still called friend ever again, for they would all be here or at the de la Valière estate while she was out there, exiled from her home, living like a commoner. She had contemplated running away, but she was a de la Valière, and de la Valières met their problems head on!

Running, however attractive, was not an option.

With these thoughts in mind, she cried herself into Morpheus' embrace.

– – – –

"... and this concludes today's lecture on the first of the Basic Three, Self-Transformation. Any questions before we break and continue with predicting magical effects using mathematics?" the teacher, a red-furred fox with strange squiggly lines running over his flanks, asked. Most kits listening stood and started talking and demanding answers, but one of the younger foxes, barely into his first half-century of life, raised his tail. He lit the tip of one of his tails and fired the magical indicator at the kit in question.

He allowed a brief smile to flit across his face when the light hit the kit and every other kit fell silent. The spell he used was a useful invention by his sister a few millennia back, and used for exactly this sort of scenario. Naturally, it was only possible because his magic didn't adhere to the normal magical rules. Normal magic didn't work like that, almost regardless of the enchantment set-up.

"Hirai-sensei, is the Self-Transformation limited by your own mass, or is it limited only by magic at your command?" the kit, a promising young Tenko by name of Shirou – due to his snow-white fur – asked, proving once again why Shirou was on the shortlist of foxes to take over leadership of the clan if he maintained his current course.

"A bit of both," he answered. "Additional magic can overcome mass difference, but every gram above or below your normal mass requires increasing amounts of magic on your part."

The kit's eyes lit up in understanding, and he dipped his head respectfully. "Thank you, Hirai-sensei."

"Not a problem. Any other questions?"

Silence and stillness answered his words.

"Alright then, break for an hour, then back here. If you're not here in an hour, I will get Hisana-san to collect the absentees. Understood?"

"HAI, HIRAI-SENSEI!" the twenty-five kits shouted as one, before bolting out of the door. Hirai sighed. Why did he take this job again?

Oh right, his sister wanted him away from the front lines in the conflict between the foxes and the wolves. Cursing his sister's golden fur, he mentally prepared himself to give a lecture on magical mathematics.

"_My name is Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valière," _a female voice rang through his head without warning, and an accompanying green portal opened up before him. Curiously, he stalked forward to inspect the portal. It looked like a rather standard class four interdimensional portal, using a five-pronged base, likely fire, water, wood, metal, and earth. Two counter-rotating pentagrams, with runes in place for 'summoning', 'binding' and... he frowned.

He couldn't recognize the last set of runes used in the ritual. It looked like 'strength', 'divinity', and 'purity' all gathered together, crunched into fine particles, and distributes somewhat randomly.

"_I beg of thee, my servant who lives somewhere in the universe!" _

That sounded familiar. Didn't Kin talk about that a few millennia ago?

"_I beseech thee, __my beautiful, sacred, and strong familiar spirit, answer my call!__"_

Ah yes. Halkeginia. Which would make the five bases fire, earth, wind, water, and void. Since it was _he _that was summoned, it _had _to be the latter. _This should be fun_. _If what __Kin__ has simulated is accurate, then __v__oid magic should be practically worshiped there these days. So, as Hirai the Void Fox, I _cannot _refuse to answer this call. No matter that this sounds rather desperate. Not too surprising if the rest of their magic is elemental in nature. __Likely she has been mocked for a high failure rate in casting magic. _

He grinned and stepped through the portal. This was going to be _glorious_.

"_Pentagon of the Five Powers, aid in transit and bring forth my familiar!"_

– – – –

Louise could practically feel the sweat building up on her forehead, and her clothes felt clammy. Had she not had hair to her derrière, she was sure that the wet spot that was the entire backside of the layers of fabrics that covered her torso would be visible. She had a lot to live up to, and to make matters worse, her mother, her fiancée, _and_ her childhood friend were all watching!

Guiche had thankfully summoned a normal, non-magical mole, but Kirche, _damn that big-breasted scarlet woman_, had summoned a Flame Salamander, a very powerful magical salamander with an affinity, as the name suggested, to fire.

And then Tabitha had summoned a _dragon. _A Founder-be-damned _DRAGON! _And if it wasn't enough that she had summoned an extinct species, she had to summon the rarest of these species as well. The other students and the other gathered nobles may have missed it, but Louise had studied magical species quite thoroughly in the past year. The Summoning had been looming ever closer and Louise's nerves had been rising higher and higher, so she felt it was a good investment of her time to study the various animals that called Halkeginia home. As such, Louise knew that Tabitha's summon was not a wyvern, as Professor Colbert claimed, but a _Rhyme Dragon. _Even before they were confirmed extinct, dragons were rare. The Rhyme Dragons, the only species of dragon that could talk with humans – as the name indicated – were the rarest of them all. It brought interesting questions to Louise's mind, like _does the Summoning Ritual pull not through space, but time as well? Is that what happened to (in)famous animal__s that suddenly disappeared? _

None of those questions consciously registered at the moment, though.

It was her turn.

She walked up to the circle, and prepared the incantation. Due to the sheer force of _need _she possessed at the moment the incantation could probably be more accurately classed as a prayer than any sort of magical incantation.

"_My name is Louise Francoise Le Blanc de la Valière," _she started, and the summoning circle started to glow brightly, far brighter than any before her. Her raw, naked _need _for a strong familiar took over her brain, and changed the remaining words of the ritual to something more suited to her desires, and eldritch magical energies swirled around her and the ritual.

Many of the watching students and other assorted nobles had to wring their eyes at the display. Wasn't this the girl that had never succeeded in casting even a single spell?

"_I beg of thee, my servant who lives somewhere in the universe! I beseech thee, my beautiful, sacred, and strong familiar spirit, answer my call! __Pentagon of the Five Powers, aid in transit and bring forth my familiar!"_

A massive cloud of smoke welled up from the summoning ritual, and Louise feared the worst. All her other spells so far had wound up ending the same way, after all.

"Gust," Tabitha intoned softly in her usual monotone, and a wave of wind arrived to sweep away the cloud.

A fox.

She had summoned a _fox_. Albeit one far larger than normal – standing about a metre from paw to shoulder – with nine tails and strange purple markin-

_Nine tails? There isn't a species of fox with nine tails out there! _

The fox then surprised her even further by sinking in on his – at least, she assumed he was a male – front paws.

"At thy summoning, I have answered thy call. I ask of thee, art thou my master?" the fox asked her in perfect formal Tristrainian, and she was just about ready to faint. _A talking fox with more than one tail? What does this mean for me? _

She grasped the fox's question like a lifeline. "Indeed, I am," she answered shakily, then drew herself up as best she could while walking to her new familiar. _She wasn't a failure!_ "Pentagon of the Five Powers, grant your blessing and make him my familiar," she incanted solemnly and kissed him right on the lips.


	5. The Terran Nephalem

**A/N: HP/Diablo this time. I read Something Wicked This Way Comes by The Mad Mad Reviewer (HP/Disgaea and seriously worth your time) lately, and got inspired. I've cranked out three chapters in less than a day, and present the first of these three (after some touching up) for your reading pleasure, even if it is rather rough. And who knows? I may make a full fic out of it.**

** This first chapter rather resembles chapter 1 of the aforementioned fic, but that is primarily because the setting is similar.**

* * *

Grimmauld Place had, once upon a time, been a good neighbourhood. It used to be a typical upper middle-class area, and then World War II happened. The inhabitants of Grimmauld Place had been evacuated to rural areas of Britain to prevent loss of life from the German bombs and most just never returned, and the few that did left within the year.

Ever since then, very few had dared live on Grimmauld Place, and it showed. Houses were in various states of visible disrepair with paint flaking, doors barred, windows smashed in, the housefronts were grimy more often than not, and despite everyone's best efforts, a large black bin bag stood on the sidewalk bearing the signs of urban foxes and other animals looking for an easy meal. Half of the street lamps were malfunctioning, either through force or through wear and tear burning out the bulbs, and these spots of darkness were popular spots for troublesome jouths to gather and drink, smoke, and do other illicit things that were best left unmentioned.

Despite this, Grimmauld Place did not have it as bad as Grimmald Square, a small cul-de-sac connected to Grimmauld Place. At first sight, this did not appear to be the case, as all the street lamps were still working, the road was still clean and featured a lot fewer holes, and most of the houses were still occupied. Closer inspection would reveal the truth of the matter, however. The stereotypical white picket fences only stood because they were made from environmentally-resistant plastic, the majority of the bushes and trees were overgrowing, and the few railings that marked places where cars could park were clearly rusted beneath the layer of paint.

Living on Grimmald Square revealed that yet another thing was wrong with the neighbourhood; a nearby storm drain had been clogged as far back as people could remember. As a consequence, every day that it rained – and given that this was Britain, there tended to be a lot of rainy days – the street would gain a layer of water that most people still living on Grimmauld Square had learned to ignore.

Just as they ignored the curious case of the forgotten number twelve. Apparently, someone had forgotten to mark a house with the number twelve when the street was being constructed, and everyone had long since written it off as a government quirk.

But just because number twelve couldn't be seen didn't mean it wasn't there.

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, was a house that did exist, but it was hidden by some of the most complex magics out there that stashed it away in what was essentially a pocket dimension with a portal existed at the seam between numbers 11 and 13. Had it not been, everyone in Grimmauld Place would have attributed the decline of both Grimmauld Place and Grimmauld Square to that building, for it was without a doubt the gloomiest, murkiest, grimmest, darkest, and all-around most unwelcoming old building they had ever seen.

The handful of people capable of seeing Grimmauld Place, let alone have a reason to go inside, vigorously agreed.

And it is inside this building that the single-most important event of the century, and some would argue millennium, would take place.

– – – –

"Remind me again, why are we doing this?" a black-haired youth, with eyes as green as the most brilliant jade, asked.

"Because if he doesn't want to play fair, then why should we?" a gangly red-head replied. "He's already tried to sic Dementors on you, hasn't he?"

"I guess," the first replied, eyeing the runic circle being drawn with some trepidation. "Except I dunno about some of these reagents. Lightning-grilled lizard gullet? Lungs from a drowned Bowtruckle? A Hibachi?"

"The circle's Luna's," the sole woman among them replied as if that settled the matter. "I personally find 'why did Luna have a complete demon summoning seal in Latin ready and waiting' a worthier question to ask."

"It's Luna," the first replied. "I think it's personally better not to ask. Safer for our sanities."

"Point there, mate," the red-head replied as they put the finishing touches to the potion that the ritual required. "Though, Hermione, you did check whether it would work, right?"

"Of course I did, Ron," Hermione replied with only a small hint of exasperation as she carefully checked the drawing of the ritual circle. "The reagents and potion ingredients are rather esoteric, but the principles behind their inclusion check out."

She nodded to herself in satisfaction. "All we need now is a few drops of your blood Harry, as it is you who we will bind the demon to. Silver knife. Ron, cauldron in the exact centre of the circle, please."

Harry nodded and grabbed the appropriate knife as Ron hauled the cauldron into the circle. "Where do you want the blood?"

"At each point where either of the two pentagrams meet the circle. One drop each."

"Any particular order?"

"Not in this case."

Harry nodded and took great care not to spill more than one drop on the aforementioned points, or anywhere _but _at the points needed. He'd managed to partially mess up Voldemort's return ritual by changing the forcibly taken blood to willingly given blood, and who knew how more or less blood stacked against the intent behind blood?

"You have to wonder why Luna has stuff for... _this_... you know?" Ron asked with a vague handwave towards the ritual circle as Hermione started playing on a cast-iron flute, sheet music provided by Luna. "She's always been rather off, but there's hardly a mean bone in her body."

"Mhm," Harry agreed, remembering the few interactions he had with the girl in question. 'Rather off' was putting it mildly. "You were the one that talked to her," Harry said with a questioning glance.

"Yeah, I know. She was talking about defending against the Heliopath Army, I think, and my eyes kind of glazed over. The next moment she was walking away and I had the stuff in my hands, you know?"

Harry nodded. He could imagine.

_'Blood is a powerful thing', _a disembodied voice said in Harry's mind as Hermione's music started to build. '_Blood is the vessel of life and the currency of the soul. Blood calls to blood, and blood will always answer blood's call. As such, without knowing the extent of your blood's origin and composition, using blood for _anything_ is a foolish thing to do. You had no idea that your blood wasn't entirely human, had you?'_

Before Harry could process these words, the music reached its crescendo and a bright flash accompanied by an eruption of smoke filled the room. Coughing, he cast a first-year wind charm – developed for exactly this purpose – that forced the smoke out of the room through the window. As the smoke cleared, three pairs of eyes locked onto the shape they could see emerging, eager to see what kind of demon they had summoned.

Harry's breath hitched in his throat. She, and it was definitely a woman if the substantial mounds on her chest were any indication, was a woman of Chinese descent with a sharp and rather regal face. She wore gold-coloured boots with greaves reaching to just beyond her knee, black pants that looked like silk, a black shirt that he wouldn't mind wearing himself if tailored to fit, a red robe worn open, a gold-coloured belt stopping it from flapping in a way that hindered movement, and actual _spaulders _with feathery decorations that reminded him a little of Fawkes' wings. A mace, looking a little like it was a spiked sun on a stick – complete with yellow glow emanating from the middle of the spiked circle – hung at her right hip.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, neither of whom appeared to notice the mass amounts of raw magic rolling from her.

"_Who __dares __summon me?" _she demanded in a tone that said 'cross me and suffer'. It was not at all what he'd expected after that little disembodied spiel - if that was her -, and rather more akin to an irate McGonagall if Harry was honest with himself.

"_I did," _Harry answered, absently noting that both Ron and Hermione had turned to him with wide eyes.

"_And why did you summon me?" _

"_I__t wasn't my intent__, unless demons don't look like what I ever expected them to." _

She fell silent at this before letting out a snort. "_Technically, h__alf-demon," _she said. She lifted her hand and called the seal that bound her into view. "_The language is unfamiliar to me, but __proper craft__s__manship __is evident regardless of understanding, __or a lack thereof as is the case__. How doe__s it function__?"_

He turned to Hermione, who was staring at him with slack jaws. "How did you just learn Chinese, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "I did? Anyway, she's asking how the seal works."

"She's bound to you until the death of Tom Marvolo Riddle, at which point she should be banished back to where she came. However, as the ritual was meant to summon a demon I don't know if that holds or not."

"She says she's half," he replied before turning back to the woman. He wasn't questioning where his apparent command of an entirely new language came from, but it was useful. "_The seal binds you to me until the person named Tom Marvolo Riddle is dead, at which point you should be banished to whence you came, though as the ritual was meant to summon a full demon, rather than a half, we aren't sure if that still applies." _

"_T__he binding __is there__," _she replied before she frowned. "_I am confident in saying__ that it links our lives together. You die, I die, and in reverse. __From there, I think it is safe to assume the rest of the ritual holds, pending further investigation.__"_

"_Wonderful. Let's hope Riddle bites the dust quickly then, __and that the ritual still works as it should__." _

"_Let's," _she agreed. "_Can you tell me where he is __so that we may facilitate the process__?" _

Harry coughed and looked away, a bit embarrassed. "_We were kind of hoping you'd be able to work some demonic magic and locate him for us, actually." _

She groaned. "_You are an idiot__." _

"_It does look rather foolish in hindsight, yes."_

A knock on the door sounded and Sirius popped his head into the room, looking at each of the inhabitants. "Heard some commotion, thought I'd check what's what." He looked at the woman and raised an eyebrow. "You're a bit young for an escort, Harry, and so are you, Ron. Hermione, I didn't know you swung that way unless you got the escort for Harry so you could have Ron to yourself, though I do commend you on your taste."

"WHAT?!" the three yelled in unison. The woman raised a questioning eyebrow at the three of them.

"I mean, I certainly have done things like this, but I at least waited until seventh year."

"She's not a whore!" Hermione screamed.

"And I never said she was. Escorts tend to be a lot higher class than a common whore. Though," he said, turning to the woman. "How did you get in here? The charm that protects this house prevents people from even writing down its address, let alone sharing it."

"That's kind of related to the 'she's not an escort' thing, Sirius," Harry said. "She's a half-demon from China, apparently."

"Half-demon? From China? You got proof?"

"_He's asking for proof that you're bound to me. Showing the seal should suffice." _

"_Of course, Master," _she replied with a teasing lilt to the last word that put Harry in the running for 'reddest tomato'. She cackled a little at his reaction before she raised her right hand, willing the seal into sight. Sirius bent down to examine it.

"That was Chinese, alright. Standard Mandarin if I'm not mistaken," Sirius remarked. "My Latin's a bit rusty, but this says that you were 'binding the recipient of this seal to he whose life is connected until such a time that the existence of one Tom Marvolo Riddle has left the mortal coil beyond possibility for resurrection'."

"Sounds about right," Hermione confirmed.

"You bound a demon to off Voldemort. And his middle name's Marvolo?"

"Half-demon, but yes," Harry replied bluntly. "It sounded like a good idea."

"That's a phrase I've said a few times," Sirius chuckled. "Who wrote this? I know neither of you three knows Latin to the extent necessary to craft this. Translate, sure. Craft, no."

"Luna did. Luna Lovegood."

Sirius sniggered a little. "Of course it had to be Lovegood. No one else is crazy enough for things like this, although they do tend to know what they are doing. Though, half-demon? What I saw called for a full demon."

"Yeah," Harry replied. "I think my blood reacted strangely to the ritual. I heard a voice, probably herself, say something about my blood not being fully human."

Sirius nodded. "Yeah, James had the same thing and his father before him, and likely his father before him but Charlus never talked about that. Was sketchy a few times when the other purebloods got close to uncovering that and undoing practically everything James and Charlus had ever worked for."

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked, shelving the mentions of non-human blood to the back of her mind.

"Keep her up here for now, I'll send out some owls. Harry, as she is your summon she is your responsibility." Harry nodded. "Ron, I'll get you another room."

"What?" Ron asked, but he simply sighed as Sirius shot him a glare.

"Can I borrow Hedwig, Harry?"

"If she wants to, though I don't think she'll mind," Harry responded, looking at the snowy-white owl. The woman followed his gaze.

"_That is a__n exceptionally beautiful__ owl." _

"_That she is," _Harry agreed readily. "You up for delivering some message for Sirius, girl?"

Hedwig hooted and flew down to land on Sirius' shoulder, who was looking at Harry as if he had sprouted a second head.

"When exactly did you learn Chinese, Harry?"

Harry frowned a little in thought before shrugging. "I think it came with the ritual."

Sirius shrugged as well. "Fair enough. Rituals do crazy things. Albus may be around this evening already, Remus... I don't know."

Harry nodded. "You know a translation charm, Sirius?"

"Only for European, African, and American languages, sorry."

"Eh, we'll figure something out."

Sirius nodded. "Come on Ron, we'll find you a new place to sleep."

Ron grumbled about having to relocate, but another glare from Sirius shut him up and he started packing. If there was one thing Azkaban was _good _for, it was for getting the 'shut up and do as I say or you will suffer' behind the glare right. It didn't weigh up against the costs of the place, but everything had a silver lining.

"_Why is he packing?" _

"_My godfather kicked Ron out of the room after he decreed you're staying here, as you are my summon you are my responsibility." _

She nodded. "_Sensible. Now, who am I working for?" _

"_The redhead next to me is Ron Weasley, the bushy-haired girl behind you is Hermione Granger, and __I'm Harry Potter, target of a Dark Lord's personal ire. __Who are you?" _

"_I am Li-Ming. Where I come from, I am the greatest Wizard and one of the best spellcasters around, including the stuck-up bastards of the Yshari Sanctum, otherwise known as my former masters, and the Vizjerei." _

"_Wizard? You say that as if it __were __some great title where you come from." _

"_It is. Wizards are feared, notorious magic users, treating elemental magics as their plaything and rending such trivial things as the fabric of spacetime apart. Is it not so here?"_

Harry shook his head. "_No, it is not. In our society of magic users, we call everyone a Witch or Wizard depending on gender, and reserve other titles, like Sorcerer and Warlock, for positions of political, not magical, power. __Extensive e__lemental magic is rare, but not unheard of, and many mages still refuse to believe that 'spacetime' is a relevant concept.__" _

She dipped her head in thought. _"I see. And where do you rank on the totem pole?" _

He flinched a little, not liking the reactions his mind projected to his answer, but deciding to be truthful to throw her a bone. Who knew where he had pulled her from and what she had been preparing to do? _"Headmaster Dumbledore once called me a once-a-century prodigy when it came to power, though my academic talent is middling." _

She narrowed her eyes. "_That changes today. Well, tomorrow. __It is impossible for a mage to be great without thorough__ theoretical understanding of magic, __and __anyone who dares __install himself as __my__ Master will not be anything __but__ a great mage, understood?"_

The way she said it left for little opposition, so he simply nodded and decided to save himself some pain. "Hermione, do you happen to have a spare Arithmancy and Ancient Runes book I can borrow? I have a feeling she's going to make me study them."

Hermione grinned viciously. "Of course, Harry. Anything to get your grades up and stop wasting the potential I know you have."

"Thanks. _I asked __Hermione__ if I could borrow two books I know you're going to make me read. Arithmancy, or magical mathematics as far as I understood, and Ancient Runes." _

A grin lit up her face. It was not a pretty thing. "_I see. __It pleases me__ that my Master is proactive in __putting forth his best effort into increasing his worthiness of the title__. __My time here may be bearable after all.__"_

Harry inclined his head. It was not going to be easy to discard instinct attained in elementary school and reinforced until he was eleven, but she had enough magical power to make his life hell if he didn't try, even if he was her Master.

At this point, Sirius and Ron re-entered the room, the former carrying a few bundles of cloth. "Alright, I sent off the messages. I also gathered some sleepwear for our guest, courtesy of Tonks." A grin that promised vicious teasing lit up his face. "Unless Harry doesn't mind her going without, of course."

Harry felt his earlier blush return in its full fury, earning a confused look with a layer of amusement underneath it from Li-Ming. Harry decided to offer an explanation.

"_My godfather, Sirius Black, has obtained some sleepwear for you." _

"_And the reason you became a human tomato?" _

"_He said 'unless I don't mind you going without'." _His blush intensified at the thoughts that sentence provoked, and her vicious grin returned. Why did he say that to a girl that had already proven she didn't mind teasing him in that manner?

"_Oh poor you. I guess your silence means you really __don't__ mind." _

"_NO! No, go ahead and put on the nightwear in the connected bathroom." _

Li-ming cackled again, thoroughly freaking Sirius out. It sounded a little too much like an oriental Bellatrix for his comfort.

"_Ah, I __had__ almost forgotten how much fun it was to tease the innocent."_She took a deep breath in an attempt to quell her laughter. "_Almost. __So what happens now?" _

"_Right now, nothing much. School starts again in a month, but that's about it." _

"_Rejoice," _she said dryly. "_School."_

"_I remain positive you will not find the experience __that__ bad, miss," _a third voice Harry recognized as belonging to his Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, replied. "_Albus of Clan Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry." _

She nodded, far more respectfully than she had done to anyone up to now. "_I didn't believe Master when he said that Wizard was the title for the everyday sorcerer, but with __such an introduction__?" _

"_What can the Wizards of your homeland do, then, miss?" _

"_Li-ming. We are the most feared and notorious masters of the arcane, summoning eldritch abominations bent to our will, rending the fabric of reality apart at a whim, and conjuring up the elements to do our bidding with nary a thought, although we share the latter qualification with Sorcerers."_

Albus looked more than a little bit horrified. "I did not think it would be possible, but it may have been better if you'd summoned an actual demon, Harry."

"It does sound a little scary, doesn't it?"

"What did she say?" Hermione asked while Ron just stood there. Harry repeated Li-ming's words from just now, earning wide, horrified looks from them both.

"_Can I see your seal?" _Dumbledore asked while Harry was talking to Ron and Hermione. In response, Li-ming willed it into view.

"_That's a Lovegood seal alright," _Dumbledore commented. "_My Latin's not what it used to be, but this should hold. It is most curious that there are seven spokes and only one target, __though__. __Multiple spokes usually means that there are multiple targets, yet there is only one Riddle." _

"_Then, __logically,__ this Riddle __I was summoned to slay __has discovered a means to split his essence at a __sufficiently elementary__ level to fool the ritual into thinking there are seven instances__ of him running around."__  
_

Dumbledore's face turned white. "_I __have my suspicions, but I will need to delve into the books to confirm."_

"_In the meantime, Professor Dumbledore, do you have a translation charm you can cast on her?" _Harry interjected.

"_I can do better than a translation charm," _Dumbledore replied as he reached into a pocket_. "It's by no means perfect, but there exist ear-mounted jewellery that implant language into a person's brain overnight. It isn't used much because the new language requires frequent use over the months, often years, afterwards to solidify permanently into the user's mind and the jewellery is rather expensive. As it so happens, I went ahead and bought an English earring before I made my way here." _

At this, Harry was struck by a thought and turned to Hedwig's stand, which was currently lacking one owl. It had taken fifteen minutes for Dumbledore to show up from the moment Sirius left. Subtract one minute for writing the message, two minutes to purchase an earring – unless he already had one lying around –, and five minutes to walk from the Headmaster's desk to the hearth, floo to Diagon Alley, and Apparate from there to here – not entirely unreasonable – and at most seven minutes remained for Hedwig to have flown from Grimmauld Place to Hogwarts.

From London to somewhere in northern Scotland, in _at most _seven minutes. "Bloody hell Hedwig flies fast."

"That is a function of Hogwarts' wards, actually. They're tied into the ley-lines of the planet, so anytime anyone any_where_ on the planet writes to a recipient that is at Hogwarts at the time of sending, the owl or other bird carrying the message is sped up by a factor of three thousand."

Three sets of eyes widened. "Bloody hell," Ron exclaimed in awe while Harry quickly recapped the comments to Li-ming. "Just how powerful _were _the Founders?"

"Rather more powerful that myself or Riddle, possibly combined," Dumbledore said before returning his attention to Li-ming. "_As joyful as a conversation about the limits of magic users is, the most pressing problem will be your back__ground__, and how you will blend in with the school. Fortunately, the language you speak is a currently existing one on this planet, so we can always claim you are a transfer student from a backwater Chinese magical academy – and yes, they exist – that was born here, but sent to a Chinese orphanage after your parents gave you up or were killed."_

"_That will not do," _Li-ming said, raising a hand that had each finger coated in a different element. Harry recognized fire, lightning, and ice, but wasn't sure what the other two – one a sickly purple, the other a brilliant green – were. Ron and Hermione looked anxiously between Dumbledore and Li-ming, not being able to follow the conversation.

"_Indeed it will not," _he acknowledged with a cautious smile. Li-ming extinguished her fingers and the caution bled from his smile. "_Perhaps self-taught? It would excuse gaps in knowledge we consider basic." _

"_We can always claim she was raised by non-magicals and given free reign of a library stocked with fantasy stories," _Harry interjected. "_T__hough I think we'll need to make her some other nationality with Chinese descent in that case. __At least with that idea it'd make more sense for her to have been French or something, though admittedly I don't known how _laissez-faire_ Chinese parents are with their children__." _

"_You and me both, Harry. Born to Chinese parents, raised in France. __I'll get you all __F__rench earrings in the morrow __so that your lack of French talent will not disrupt the cover__." _He stroked his beard in thought. "_This is by far the easiest solution, as __attendance to Beauxbatons is not mandatory __like Hogwarts' is to the British __if the parents can provide tutors, and __French __tutors are notorious for encouraging self-study. From there it is not a stretch to say that she was inspired by the likes of Tolkien, Lewis, and the works of Dumas that never made it to the non-magical printing press. We'll have to give you copies, of course, so that you can familiarize yourself with these works."_

"_Thank you, Headmaster," _Li-ming said, resisting the urge to call him an old fart. It was evident to her that her new Master had great respect for this man, and thus showing respect to the old fart meant that her Master was more inclined to treat _her _with the respect she was due, and all she had to do was resist the urge to treat people like him how she usually did. All told, not that great an effort for potentially great gains. It didn't hurt that the old fart had a command over magic to rival her own, even if he apparently kept his spells rather tame compared to what she did, if her deductions from the limited use of elemental magics was correct. She sniggered internally at what his reaction would be if he saw her cast a Blazar. She still sometimes preened a little, even if only internally, at her development of the spell. A fire-natured _black hole_.

She had felt that her new Master was very powerful. Not to her own level, but he was closer than even the old fart and she estimated that she would need more than 80% of her power against the old fart, and if the general procession of magic was akin to the one she was familiar with – he did have a magical circuit like her, unlike the others she had sensed so far, so that wasn't a very great leap of logic –, her Master's magic hadn't yet finished maturing. The old fart would win in a fight with her Master because he had control as well as power, rather than just power. Briefly, she considered the merits of the teaching institution if they didn't even adequately learn to control magic.

On the other hand, if his two friends were any indication, her Master was an outlier. It could very well be that this Hogwarts place, for all the ridiculousness of its name, was more than sufficient for normal power levels. _Worries for tomorrow,_ she thought as she stifled a yawn.

"_I suggest we retire," _she posited, "_and tackle the problems introduced this day __in the morrow,__ after we have rested and broken our fasts." _

"_An excellent suggestion," _Dumbledore agreed. _"Do not forget your earring. The enchantment is specifically designed to incorporate the knowledge during sleep." _

She nodded. "_Thank you." _

She _looked_ at her Master, who got the not-so-subtle hint and turned to the other two as she walked into the bathroom to change into the gifted sleepwear. "She wants to rest," he said with a half-yawn. "And I can't say I disagree. Sleep sounds pretty awesome right now."

Ron and Hermione nodded. "See you tomorrow then."


	6. Insert Snazzy Super Title Here

**A/N: The unpolished start to a Super!Harry fic (but not Mary-Sue, as his opponents are planned to be so powerful that he will need every single shred of that power) series. First half features Curbstomping!Harry as Voldemort is dealt with (and Harem!Harry à la _Harry Potter and the Witches' Secret by RotaryFile_ over on HPfanficarchive, because magical power = libido), though my initial plans included enough political intrigue to keep things interesting. Second half becomes serious like _whoa_, featuring opponents that snuff entire galaxies out for breakfast. That was the plan, at least. I doubt it'll see light, however, as I've got way too much to deal with atm.**

"There he goes! Get him!" Dudley Dursley yelled at him after the school had let out for the day.

"I see 'im!" Piers Polkiss, the smallest and fastest of Dudley's schoolyard bully gang, yelled as he and the other three members chased after Dudley's even smaller cousin. None of them knew why Dudley had it out for him, and none of them cared. The biggest whale in the primary school pond – for all that he was seven, Dudley was large and very mean – told them to beat up the small Potter boy, and so they did. These five enjoyed beating up kids, especially those smaller and weaker than themselves, and the local primary school was a target-rich environment, as almost all the girls in their class, as well as one class above them, were frequent recipients of beatings.

Today, however, things would be different.

"He's trying to hide behind the dustbins!" Piers, Dudley's second-in-command, yelled. "Gordon, run around the other end so he's cut off!"

Harry Potter scowled as his plan was exposed by the rat-faced boy, though he knew that it would have gotten out sooner or later. Piers was the brains of Dudley's gang, and while his dearest - and only - cousin Dudley gave them direction, Piers was usually the one who told them how it could be done. In a normal world, Piers would have been just as much a target as Harry, as they differed all of two inches in height and shared similar frames, but Piers had that one, invaluable quality that bullies the world over coveted; he was a toady. Piers was mean and clever enough to avoid beatings by giving the gang other targets to beat up, and he had the coward's gift of knowing when authority was going to arrive before it actually did, allowing an innocent façade and a silver tongue to do the rest to keep them out of trouble.

While Piers was coordinating the miniature mountains he called friends to his boss' favoured target, Harry ran like the wind. Harry's small, scrawny frame belied powerful leg muscles and superior reflexes due to living in the Dursley household. The only one that was actually physical with him was Dudley, but Harry had soon learned to dodge Dudley's blows. They hurt.

Harry took full advantage of his superior speed and reflexes, especially when compared to the Dudley gang, by turning the corner that led behind the school before any of them could have seen him. Piers was familiar enough with his normal reactions that this was merely a stopgap. Piers had already, correctly, guessed that he wanted to hide behind the dustbins, so he had to think of a new plan.

Hmm... weren't those dustbins conveniently placed just so that he could climb onto the large dumpster behind the bins? None of Dudley's gangs were fond of acrobatics, so the moment Harry could get on top of the dumpster, he should be safe for another day.

He leapt on top of a dustbin and prayed that his next jump would see him in range of the top of the dumpster. With a desperate need to escape the bullies after him filling his entire mind, Harry jumped off the dustbins.

The very next moment, he was on the school's roof.

How the bloody hell had that happened? Gusts of wind were out, because despite his baggy hand-me-down clothing, someone of his weight still required a fairly significant bit of wind to lift him up to the roof, and there was practically no wind worth the name. This did not include the fact that what wind there was was currently blowing downward, not upward. So how had he appeared on the rooftop?

He'd jumped onto the dustbins, swiftly followed by a leap for the edge of the large dumpster, but he'd never arrived. Now that he looked back, he could remember a slight warmth spreading through his body just before a brief squeezing sensation, which began the moment he vanished and ended the instant he landed on the roof.

It was just like magic, Harry remarked to himself.

But that was absurd, the Dursleys had stated more than once that magic – or rather, the 'm-word' – didn't exist.

But what if it did? A traitorous corner of Harry's mind whispered. What if magic did exist?

Harry almost quashed this corner of his mind on instinct. Almost. At the last second, he allowed himself to entertain the idea, if only as a thought-experiment. How many weird events in his life could he explain only if magic _was_ real?

Reaching back into the memories of the past four years, he swiftly found that the answer was _a lot._

When he was four and had just started doing chores, Aunt Petunia had withheld a meal when he had not completed a chore to her satisfaction, despite the driveway being free of any rubble. He'd felt a surge of emotion he wasn't willing to identify, and suddenly the glass in the living room window was gone. He remembered moving things without touching them, he remembered cleaning windows without soap. He remembered repairing an old set of Dudley's crayons in the darkness of his cupboard. He remembered turning a teacher's hair blue and vanishing the classroom window. He remembered finding a snake in the garden and holding a short conversation with it – it called him a 'Speaker', whatever that was – before Aunt Petunia discovered it and killed it.

And now, teleportation.

Now that he had put it all in a list, it was very hard to deny to himself that magic existed, and that he was capable of it.

Now he just had to replicate it.

He sat down on the roof and tried to replicate the moment he had teleported from the bullies just now. If he could do it again, he could forever be free from Dudley's gang!

The first step would have to be emotion of some kind. All previous bits of what he now suspected was magic, minus the speaking snake, were the product of strong emotions.

He closed his eyes and focused on his memories. Eventually, the outside world vanished as his attention turned increasingly inwards.

He never noticed the gathering thunderclouds.

– – – –

A pair of blue eyes, reflecting wisdom beyond their physical appearance, watched from the rooftop across the street in an existential plane shifted slightly diagonally to the plane his observational target existed on. Close enough to see, far enough to not be seen by all but the Elder Dragons and Phoenixes. He'd waited for this moment for a long time, and it may almost not have happened. The child had almost dismissed the event when his mind fortuitously got stuck on the 'what if' scenario.

All that was needed now was for the child to consciously access his magic without his aid, and his brown plumage would once again grace Earth... even if he had to practically kill himself to be small enough to be practical to the child before and at Hogwarts.

_Damn phoenixes getting the good bunch of the size-altering powers._

Now, how to aid the child's accessing his magic without giving his location away to hostile parties?

It only took him a minute to think of a good course of action to reach the stated goal, and he was mildly embarrassed that it took him so long.

He was a Thunderbird, Lord of Lightning – and storms –, and his lightning just happened to be charged with not a little magic to the point it was more 'his magic was charged with not a little lightning'.

_Oh yes, that'll do, _the majestic bird thought. _If his own memories aren't strong enough to break through without a focus, as I suspect they are, then how about a little magic-laden tempestuous assistance to jumpstart the system? Covering up a little magic with _a lot_ of magic. I'm a genius!_

Cackling to himself from the perceived brilliance of his plan, he flexed his muscles, both physical and metaphysical, and shifted his own existence fully onto the human plane.

He stretched his wings, appearing to the ignorant masses as nothing more than just a slightly larger than average brown eagle. He gathered his magic, something that was harder to do in his smaller form than his fully-grown one.

_5... _The air crackled with magic, shorting out all electronics within half a mile. Inhabitants of Surrey yelled as their TV programmes disappeared before their eyes, the TVs broken far beyond repair. Children and adults alike clutched at their ears in agony as the phones they had been using to talk through emitted a loud shriek before dying. He flapped his wings, his brown feathers lifting him into the sky to prepare for the grand finale.

_4... _the sky greyed out as cumulonimbus clouds gathered in the sky over London. Muggles roaming the streets of London looked up in annoyance, writing the fastest build-up of cumulonimbus clouds in British – and possibly global – history off as nothing more than a quirk of British weather and opened the umbrellas most carried with them as the rain started to fall. Magicals looked at the storm and fled into their houses and shops with fear etched on their faces. They alone could tell with absolute certainty that this was _not_ a normal storm, and most wondered who the obscenely powerful Wizard was that could create this powerful a storm was. In a castle up north, in Scotland, a beautiful bird, her plumage a vibrant red and gold, looked up in the direction of London and flashed away in a burst of red-gold flame, startling the bearded old man working at the desk close to his perch. _What in the world is that crazy bird doing this time? _both bird and man thought.

_3... _he carefully sent his magic into the cumulonimbus clouds. It wasn't that he had to guide the thunder to young Harry Potter, he wanted to create a thunder-free zone around the green-eyed child so that he could prepare for what was likely to be the most reckless and idiotic manoeuvre of his extremely long life; impacting a seven-year-old with a sky-thrown bolt of pure magic disguised as thunder. A red flash of fire appeared in the sky beneath him that he paid scant attention to. This was more important.

_2... _even when the singing started, indicating a very familiar firebird that realized in a split second what he was intending to do, he kept his concentrating on the clouds. One single mistake and he _would_ be sent to Oblivion for destroying the Watcher's Chosen. Though no precedent existed, he was certain the Watchers would _not _be happy if he managed to destroy the result of seventy eight thousand years of very careful eugenics. The phoenix drifting in the sky below him came to the same conclusion and switched tunes to aid in control. Normally the majestic phoenix would not be able to change tunes this fast, but the adrenalin flooding both the birds' systems from the tense situation allowed for far faster synaptic firing rates than otherwise possible.

_1... _he took careful aim. He needed to strike the child and burn through the parental bindings placed when he was three months old or his magic wouldn't jumpstart properly and allow itself to be wielded without a focus. Thunder crashed in rapid succession into the lightning rods all around London before falling silent. All residents of London held their breath when the lightning suddenly stopped falling. Surely this was just the calm before the massive, final strike for what could only be the Lord their God's wrath?

_Go!_ he thought, and all hell broke loose as a bolt of pure magic lanced from the heavens to the rooftop where a short boy with messy black hair and brilliant green eyes was sitting dead to the world, accompanied by simultaneous thunder-strikes all over London as the excess power bled over to the gigantic storm cell. Heaven appeared to roar in the skies over London as the air lit yellow from the high frequency and magnitude of impacting thunder, and he didn't doubt that many had sunk to knees, praying for deliverance.

They would be denied. The only gods that existed were the Watchers, and they had a strict non-interference policy.

When the yellow had bled from the sky, he turned his eyes towards the child on the roof, the one that necessitated this all.

"_Wakinyan Tanka, we are going to have _words_ about this, __later,__" _the phoenix admonished him.

"_Bite me, Hōka. __It worked, didn't it?"_

"_Like I said; _later_,"_ the golden bird said telepathically. _"We need to ascertain that the Watcher's Chosen is still intact." _

Wakinyan scoffed, as if the very notion that he was not was insane. _"Of course he is. I specifically aimed that bolt at the __top-grade parental__ bindings on his __magic__. This was, almost literally, the only way I could help him __at this time__ without asking for Watcher intervention, and certainly the fastest. Even if __it was rather flashy__," _Wakinyan said, adding the last sentence in a quiet murmur that was nonetheless heard by his companion.

"_A _bit_ flashy, Wakinyan?" _the phoenix said with an incredulous tone as his talons hit the building's roof. _"I wouldn't be surprised if they saw that in Tibet!" _

Wakinyan flapped a wing in as close an approximation as a bird can get to a human dismissing something with a wave. "_It'll be fine."_

He moved to the child lying on the floor screaming himself hoarse from the pain of the powerful bindings breaking. "_See?"_ Wakinyan said to the phoenix. "_The bindings are broken and I've got his magical scent now so I don't really need to physically see him to know where he is."_

Hōka fixed a single eye upon Wakinyan. "_You didn't have his magical scent before?"_

"_Nope. I wasn't exposed to the __kid__until last year when the Watchers finally gave me permission to start watching him, __and the parental bindings standard to the magical folk here had already settled__. With the bindings gone, his available magic soared from __approximately __fifteen percent__ to __full__... so now I've got his scent." _

Hōka nodded, somewhat mollified. "_You get to talk to him. Do _not_ mess this up,"_ the phoenix warned before flashing away in a bright flare of red and gold. Wakinyan settled down on the roof. Breaking through bindings on a person's magic the way he did was painful in itself, never mind the backlash from these particular bindings, and even thought these were parental bindings, they were very powerl. As it was, the only thing that stopped the child's magic from breaking down and dispersing into the aether – killing the child in the process – under the stress was the very source of the danger; the bolt of magic he fired into it, reinforcing the child's magic as the malicious bindings sought to destroy any magic the child had. _Damn I'm good_.

Five minutes after the phoenix left the screaming stopped. The small form of Harry Potter, smaller than average in every way except for his magic, fell silent but not still. While the pain was no longer severe enough for the child to scream out, his body was still twitching from uncontrolled muscle contractions and relaxations.

When the last of these tremors had died down, Wakinyan approached the child and poked him with a single wing. "_How're you feeling, kid?" _

The child opened a cautious eye, still slightly groggy from being struck by what was effectively a lightning bolt. "Wha-?" he said, looking around. "Who said that?"

Wakinyan rolled his eyes. He really should have foreseen this. Those that wouldn't recognize his species, like the child in front of him, would say he's an eagle, and since when do eagles talk? He poked the child again, slightly more forceful this time so there could be no misunderstanding. "_I said, how're you feeling, kid?"_

Harry yelled out and scampered back. "How are you talking?! Birds don't talk!"

"_Obviously, I'm not a normal bird since I do talk,"_ he said with an air of exasperation. He struck a pose that he had labelled 'epic'; wings folded out and pointing up and away, one leg forward, breast sticking out, and beak as high as it could go. _"I am Wakinyan Tanka, the Great Thunderbird!_" With a sudden flash of thunder to complete the introduction. That particular flash was an illusion because he'd done enough to let the non-magical world know that magic existed, but it was the principle of the matter.

Epic introductions simply weren't the same without dramatic flashes or impacts of thunder at the right time. He turned an eye towards the kid, who was obviously awe-struck by his most epic moment.

"What the bloody hell kind of name is Wakinyan Tanka?" Harry said after a few minutes.

Wakinyan covered his face with a wing in a fair approximation of a human face-palm. "_It is _my_ name, kid. To answer your question of just a few minutes ago; I'm a Thunderbird, a magical species of bird that can talk and summon storms, among other things._"

"So magic is real, then?" Harry said with an odd expression on his face. Obviously the kid was wondering if that was the reason his Aunt hated him so bad.

"_Yup. I've been assigned to be your guide as your explore the depths of your recently-revealed powers." _

"Assigned?"

"_Yeah. People up there,_" he said while pointing directly up with the tip of a wing. "_Have a vested interest in you. Normally that'd be _bad_, because we're talking about the equivalent of __g__ods, but in this situation it's good. __There's a pretty powerful bad guy after your head and you need to be prepared." _

"How powerful does a bad guy need to be for gods to send an agent to personally train someone to stop him?"

Wakinyan whistled appreciatively inside. This kid had _brains_, and apparently had the presence of mind to stop himself freaking out when it wouldn't do either of them good. The other implications of his reaction – or lack thereof – weren't nearly as positive. _"Powerful enough to give me, the being that inspired the Norse god Thor and the Greek god Zeus, reason to think twice before fighting him." _

"That's... pretty powerful. _I'm_ going to be that powerful?" he asked disbelievingly.

"_No, kid, you're not,"_ he said. When the kid's eyes turned downcast he grinned ferociously. "_You're going to be so much more powerful it's not even funny any more." _

The kid's head shot up, eyes wide. "Wha-?"

"_Oh yes," _he said with a sagely nod. "_However, you will _need_ every sliver of power you can get. This bad guy is only the first wave of bad stuff headed Earth's way." _

He extended a wing in the child's direction. "_Grab hold and I'll take you to a place where we can safely train your newly released magic."_

The kid eyed him wearily. "And where will you be taking me? For that matter, how? You don't look like you could carry me anywhere."

He frowned slightly. He'd expected more resistance toward the idea of taking him away from the only place the child has ever known. He'd have to arrange suitable punishment for the Dursleys, Vernon more so than Petunia and Dudley. "_The how is easily answered. A power of me and my peers is dimensional shifting. I'll take you to another dimension, where you can learn about magic without bothering to restrain your power."_

"Dimension?"

"_I'll explain later," _Wakinyan said. "_When we get to where we're going."_

"You still haven't said where that is, Mr. Tanka."

He flinched, a grimace on his face. "_Call me Wakinyan, kid. Mr. Tanka just sounds... _off._" _

"Wakinyan, then. Where will you take me?"

"_The place where your roots lie, the place that gave birth to humans powerful enough to shift dimensions without aid from me and mine. It has many names through the ages, appearing in various forms throughout __history and __literature __from enlightened souls who have been much closer to treading the path of your ancestors than any other__. _

"_The bastion against the __d__arkness, Minas Tirith. The birthplace of kings, Avalon. The White Halls of Knowledge, Alexandria, the legend of which gave rise to sons called Alexander and daughters called Alexandra _and_ engendered the creation of the famed Library of Alexandri__a, though most think the library was named after a village or city back then._

"_The only account that mentions the island nation's true name uses it as only a part of what it was, the embodiment of hubris. It was __also __a place of learning, of superior craftsmanship, of protection against the 'darkness of the uncultured hordes', __the latter statement should say enough about the pride of its residents. Above all, however, it was home to the most absurdly powerful sorcerers I've ever come across in the multiverse.__"_

He paused to increase the dramatic tension before uttering a single word. A single word that resonated somewhere deep inside Harry, a single word that stirred something inside him that he couldn't name. Something primal.

"_Atlantis._"


	7. Summoning the Void

**_A/N: Re-imagining of Carrot Field's Chapter Five, the Void Familiar. Lot more polished, even if it is me that says so._**

_Morning broke over the prestigious Tristrain Academy of Magic, the first and foremost centre of magical knowledge in Tristrain, and perhaps in all of Halkeginia, beaten only by the University at Bruxelles. Even in the red dawn's light, there was an aura of sorts, an undefinable miasma of feverish anticipation at the day's events._

Today was the day of the sacred Springtime Familiar Summoning Ritual for all second-year students at Tristrain, and this year was shaping up to be exceptionally important.

To name but a few, there was the third daughter of Duchess Karin de la Vallière, the fourth son of General Armand de Gramont, the first-born daughter of Calice de Montmorency, and the first-born daughter of one of the only foreign families to regularly attend Tristrain Academy, the Zerbst. Those in the know, that being the Princess and the Headmaster, were also quite looking forward to the familiar of the quiet Tabitha, but no-one understood why they were so interested in the abnormally quiet girl from Gallia.

The assorted nobles of Tristrain had lacked a good reason to throw parties, not that that stopped many of them, but now that a good reason presented itself on a silver platter they jumped at the chance.

Had a terrorist group desired to wipe out all of Tristrain's rulers, they would 'only' have had to kill everyone in the Academy of Tristrain at this year's Springtime Summoning Ritual.

Eventually, as the sun started its futile chase of the moon across the sky, the nobles joined the castle's many servants in wakefulness, and the miasma of anticipation rose an uncountable number of times. Slowly, the students made their way to the central hall to break their fasts. The first-years were complaining about the workload, even this early into the academic year, and the third-years were boasting to each other about the occupations they would come to fulfil after graduation.

The second-years, however, were not so relaxed, and even the most boisterous of them was subdued, even if but a little. Compared to the University, which had a litany of rules that could see one expelled quite handily, Tristrain Academy featured only one such rule, with all others offered sliding scales of punishment of varying steepness.

And that was the second-year Springtime Familiar Summoning Ritual. Failing to summon a familiar was met with expulsion.

To make matters worse, _every noble in the country was currently in the Academy_, to socialize and oversee the students as they summoned a ritual.

One student in particular, the rather vertically challenged Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière, was looking at her plate of breakfast with something akin to dread. But, despite the hunger gnawing at her stomach, she found she couldn't muster the will to eat. Despite the late night, researching magical theory and taking notes, that left her eyes ever-so-slightly shadowed from lack of sleep, no food made its way to her mouth.

Her stomach protested this course of action. Loudly.

She blushed when people looked her way, some with amusement, some with pity. "Eat up, Vallière," one of the kinder students from her year said. "Not eating will only make it worse."

"And why should I care?" she asked acidly. "I'm just going to fail again!"

"And if you've done your research, which I know you have as you grasp of theory is top-notch, then you'll know that the Springtime Ritual doesn't use the Four Elements in quite the same way as normal spells do."

A brief flare of hope sparked inside her as she processed his words. She'd read them, of course, but they had never really registered before.

"There's even some that say that it taps into the ambient Void, but that's ridiculous," the student continued.

"Thank you..." she trailed off as diplomatically as she could. Even if she was no good at magic, there was no reason to not network, right?

He smiled, displaying two neat rows of teeth, slightly more yellow than considered acceptable. "Daniel de Rochefort, nephew to."

"Thank you, Daniel," she replied gratefully. "Not to sound ungrateful, but why?"

She didn't have to explain what the 'why' was about. It was common knowledge that every single one of her spells failed... spectacularly.

"Because I think you have potential," he said with a shrug. "Because I think that the Vallières are a good social contact to have. Because I think that nobody deserves to have your kind of luck at spellcasting today of all days. Do I need to go on?"

"No," she said, blushing slightly. "Thank you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he wanted to say was cut off by a loud, and _far _too chipper cry of, "Good morning Vallière! Ready for the big day?"

Instantly, her expression soured as the turned towards the far-too-perky – in more ways than one – mocha-skinned redhead.

"Zerbst," she said coldly by way of greeting, turning to face the scandalously dressed redhead with breasts seemingly as big as Louise's entire head. Her uniform was scandalously hemmed and the top two buttons were undone so as to flaunt her large feminine assets and long legs. A small corner of her mind was pleased to note that her new acquaintance didn't appear to have his eyes sway beneath Zerbst's collar.

"Now, now, Louise!" Zerbst said, again far too chipper. In fact, she bounced slightly on her feet, making her breasts follow, which was at odds with her pouty face. "There's no need for such a dour attitude on this grand day. You know, the day of the Springtime Summoning Ritual. Surely you can find some enthusiasm within you for such an occasion!"

Her look turned pensive. "Of course, the summons of a Vallière won't compare to my own, but the thought's what... counts, right?"

She paused a little under the ferocity of the glare Louise gave her. Before she could continue, a dainty hand appeared in the crook of her elbow, and a small bespectacled blue-haired girl – on par with Louise herself, actually – appeared from behind the redhead. Out of all the people Zerbst had to befriend, why was it one of the few Louise could stand?

"Scene," the quiet voice of Tabitha, almost entirely void of emotion, said. What ever she didn't say was conveyed through her eyes. The trick to figuring out Tabitha's single-word phrases was in the micro-expressions, Louise had learned in her second week of association with the girl. In this, she hated to admit, Zerbst was better. She didn't know why the taciturn girl spent so much time in the company of her polar opposite, but the facts were undeniable.

Zerbst huffed a little, but quieted. She sent her an amused glance. "I look forward to seeing your best effort today, Zero. Be well, Rochefort."

Neither of the pair said anything, though she noted that Daniel did send her a polite nod. Enough to acknowledge the phrase for what it was, enough to let a little displeasure be known.

The rest of the meal progressed mostly in silence, only interrupted by the bland small talk between noble children that emerged between Daniel and herself.

"I will take my leave," Louise said suddenly after she had finished eating. There was still half an hour to go before the Ritual. "I will see you in a little while. Be well, Daniel."

"Be well, Louise," Daniel said.

Without a further word, she departed from the hall and strode into the courtyard where the Ritual would take place. Not that it mattered much that she was here with twenty minutes left on the clock, as the order of summoning had been decided on last week. Naturally, she was last, lest her failure delay the other students.

She sat down on a bench and grabbed a piece of paper from a pocket. "My servant that exists somewhere in the infinite universe," she half-whispered hopefully, reciting the words once more. "My divine, beautiful, wise, and powerful servant... heed my call. I wish from the very bottom of my heart, appear before me." She squeezed the paper so tightly that it crumpled in her hands. A soft smell of ash appeared, but she couldn't find the source.

The words of the spell left her mouth several times more over the next twenty minutes, as students trickled in and the nobles that travelled here from all over the country took their place in the courtyard observatory. Close enough to watch and hear, not far enough that they could interfere unless their aim was truly splendid. Out of all the nobles, only her father, mother, and _maybe _General Gramont had that kind of aim.

If it wasn't custom for the mages partaking of the Ritual to spend the night before the Ritual alone, bereft of human attention, she would have spent the night bawling her eyes out before the Princess, her childhood playmate. As it was, she had considered breaking tradition and doing it anyway.

"Settle down, everyone," Professor Colbert said, striking the bottom of his staff against the stone floor. "Settle down."

Louise was rather fond of Colbert. He was kind, almost to a fault, and he'd even complimented her on her theory a few times. It was one of the few things she could point to and say 'I did that. I _earned_ that'.

"As you all know, you will be summoning your familiars today," Colbert said. "This is a sacred right, and rite, among mages, and marks a crucial step in your magical development. Familiars give insight into your true potential, confirm your elemental affinity, and determine which higher level curriculum you will be taught in the coming two years."

Before their eyes, Colbert changed. If Louise was to put it to words, it would be to say that he hardened. His jaw set, his eyes turned grave, and there was a general aura of authority around him.

"I will warn you that, despite the Founder crafting the Ritual to ensure maximum safety of its summoners, there is always a margin of error," he continued. "The Ritual places a mind-calming charm on the animal, and especially with the more volatile species this can make them _more _dangerous rather than less. It is my job to contain the familiar in such a circumstance, so that the familiar can be bound properly. Afterwards, you will leave the circle with your new familiar. Any delays on completing the binding will result in significant demerits. Am I understood?"

Demerits seemed such a strange punishment to her, at least at first. What good could a minor black mark on a record that no one looked at do?

As it turned out, demerits weren't recorded on a permanent record, but with Old Osmond, the Headmaster himself. Accumulate enough demerits, and a noble could be assigned a servant's tasks for up to two months at a time. There would be no classes for the student in question during this time, simply servant's work... from five on the lock to half an hour past midnight. Every day for two months. It had yet to fail in curbing excesses.

Nods and affirmative cries were given by the students.

"Then it is, as tradition demands, the honour of the best academic to start the Ritual. Tabitha, if you would?"

Tabitha nodded and stepped forward.

"Everyone, stand back. The size of the familiar is unknown to us." The students obeyed and gave the taciturn girl room. "You may begin."

Tabitha raised her wand and slowly drew the half-circle that was all that was required of the mage performing the ritual. "My servant that exists somewhere in the infinite universe. My divine, beautiful, wise, and powerful servant, heed my call. I wish from very bottom of my heart, appear before me."

S everal people blinked as the theory that Tabitha was physically incapable of stringing more than two words in a sentence were disproven. The blinked again when the bulb of light appeared and swiftly assumed a form. Gasp s were heard all around as the figure proved to be an _actual dragon._

_An actual dragon,_ Louise groused softly. Some people had _all _the luck.

The creature had deep green black less eyes and was covered in fine azure scales that paled to milky weight along its underside. The dragon slowly took in its surroundings and the softly murmuring students, sniffing the air, and then as if drawn by some magnetic force, turned its attention upon Tabitha. The girl said nothing, the dragon cocked its head and let out a soft chirp, not a roar or bark like Louise had expected, but a gentle warbling call.

"Tabitha, quickly, completely the summoning!" Colbert said urgently.

The girl was already ahead of him, stepping forward she reached up and with surprising gentleness the dragon bowed its head forward. The girl said something softly and then gently kissed the summons on the tip of its nose. The dragon warbled softly as runes etched themselves upon its skin and then slowly squatted down on it haunches regarding its summoner.

As Tabitha and her new familiar walked off to acquaint themselves and build the beginnings of a rapport in the corner of the courtyard set aside for such, Louise could have sworn that a small smile played on the girl's lips.

The other summons were not quite as impressive as an _actual dragon_ , but were still impressive to varying degrees in their own right. For example, while many scoffed at Guiche's mole, Louise knew that there were few familiars more cherished to Earth mages. Tristrainian Moles, such as this one, represented a work ethic beyond most people's ken and out of all Earth-aligned creatures the only one that represented more potential was the Tunneler, a peculiar type of worm that did exactly what its name implied.

Nor was Colbert particularly happy with some of the summons. Louise felt a vengeful smile on her lips as he berated Zerbst for not putting forth the effort to reach the magical prowess her knee-high Flame Salamander, the third most powerful Fire-aligned summons known to Halkeginia, indicated she had access to.

Slowly, agonizingly, the Ritual progressed. Sometimes, as with Guiche and Zerbst, their parents were loud enough in their praise that they could be heard even in the Courtyard, some eighty metres away.

Her stomach tightened a little as she saw her latest friend, or acquaintance rather, Daniel de Rochefort summon a juvenile Manticore, much to the audible delight of his uncle, Cardinal Jean de Rochefort, one the three Cardinals that served as Regent as long as Henriette was still a Princess.

Eventually, though, it was her turn. She stood up weakly when her name was called, but straightened swiftly and marched to the circle.

"Try not to fail too spectactularly, Zero," one voice said.

"Don't accidentally blow up the nobles, Zero!"

"Everyone, get clear! They're letting the Zero cast!"

– – – –

"I admit to curiosity," Comte de Mott said to no-one in particular. "Why are all of them, with the exception of Colbert and the young Héritier de Rochefort, flitting away from the ritual circle as the Vallière third-born approaches?"

"Apparently the third-born Vallière girl, while not a magical null, has had little success in casting magic," another noble informed him. "My son told me that, whatever she tries, she only produces explosions. Powerful ones, true, but still naught but explosions."

"Naught but explosions?" a curious General Gramont said. "Is that so, Headmaster Osmond?"

"It is most unfortunate, but yes," Old Osmond said.

"Unfortunate?" Gramont asked incredulously. "Has she ever cast a spell with the specific intent to detonate her target?"

"Not to my knowledge," Old Osmond responded. The ones that knew him well knew that he was curious now but wouldn't let it show. "Why do you ask?"

General Gramont did not reply, staring at the distant form of Louise with a calculating gaze.

– – – –

"Good morning, miss Vallière, are you ready?" Professor Colbert asked kindly, an encouraging smile on his face.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she said, trying to ignore the catcalls from the other students. "I studied the summoning most of last night."

"Then let us begin," Professor Colbert said, taking only half a step back in spite of Louise's... explosive track record. He raised his staff in preparation to cast, and gave Louise the final nod.

The youngest Vallière closed her eyes and concentrated. A spell was more than words, if it weren't than any literate commoner could have learned magic, an invocation required the casters fullest concentration and the ability to draw deeply upon the willpower within themselves and shape it to the words in order to perform the intended task.

"My servant that exists somewhere in the infinite universe," she began, and a curious mixture of hope dread settled in her stomach. The magic that appeared as she started the chant was supposed to orderly and benevolent. This oppressive, chaotic feeling to the magic felt _wrong_. But, it was _her _magic. This she knew as certainly as she knew that Founder Brimir founded the Brimiric Kingdoms. She pushed forward and filled her voice with more hope for a guardian, a _protector_. "My divine, beautiful, wise, and powerful servant... heed my call. Fulfil the wish from the very bottom of my heart and appear before me!"

T he change in words was a last minute impulse. It was as if the magic itself was guiding her to change the words, and who was she to deny the wishes of magic when, for once, it could be proven to come directly from _her_ ?

A flash of light blinded all, a loud _crack _deafened all, and a large pillar of smoke erupted from the circle at the completion of the chant, obscuring whatever sight was returning to her . Despite a plummeting heart, she held a level gaze, much to the not-so-obvious approval of her mother, who she could barely see in the window. Even if it had been oppressive and chaotic and not at all akin to the magic she was familiar with, it was _her _magic, and it had given her so much hope that _this would work, _not hindered in the least by Daniel's words at the breaking of the night's fast.

Her growing despair changed to hope as soon as she saw a shape, a mere silhouette, appear in the smoke. Too small for her secret hopes of a dragon or Manticore, it was roughly canine in shape, and while dogs weren't the most ideal for a Vallière, it was _something._

Not that a dog was complaint-worthy, mind. The Flood, for example, had a _frog._

The emerging catcalls gave way to shocked silence as the smoke finally cleared away, revealing a sight that stunned every student and staff present , including the caster . Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière had actually _successfully cast a spell_ .

The first thing to appear from the smoke was a golden snout with nine whiskers emerging from each side of the nose. It didn't look feline, nor truly canine. It was rather... vulpine, actually.

The reveal of the head confirmed this. She had summoned a fox with a beautiful golden coat of fur. Did that mean she had a lightning affinity? The first half of the vulpine torso, the lines all lean and muscles that indicated that this one was in its prime, did nothing to dissuade that. Golden foxes were generally accepted Lightning-aligned creatures, just as red-furred foxes were Fire-aligned.

There were some curious purple markings, all over her new familiar's body, however. They were lines, and sometimes a pulse of purple energy would run through them. It reminded her of one of the decorations in the Tristrainian Temple of Brimir.

The second half of the fox's torso dissuaded any notion to a standard affinity. Up to the haunches, it was a perfectly normal, if tattooed, Lightning Fox. And then came the tails.

Tails, plural.

Nine, to be exact.

Nine tails, each as long as she was tall, swished lazily behind the golden fox, who was looking around warily before he spotted her. He sniffed the air a few times, and sank through her forepaws in an animalistic mimic or a bow or curtsey.

What it did next, however, no-one was prepared for.

"_By the power of thy summoning, I have come forth. I ask of thee, art thou my Master?" _it, he, spoke. _Spoke._

Foxes weren't meant to speak! And ancient Frankish, the precursor to the Tristrainian spoken today, at that.

A tinge of worry appeared on her face, but it was ruthlessly suppressed in short order as she stepped forward imperiously. " _I am," _she responded, thanking her mother for arranging a tutor in Frankish after she'd proven to be fond of reading historical texts. " _I summoned you here."_

Her familiar dipped his head in a facsimile of a nod. "_Then complete the binding."_

She nodded and stepped forward, touching her wand to her familiar's forehead. "By the Pentagon of Five Elements, I bind you as my familiar," she stated, then swiftly pressed her lips to his nose.

With a shared grimace and the scent of burning fur and skin, runes flared to life on the back of her right hand as well as the back of her familiar's right front paw.

"Do you have a name?" she asked curiously. It had spoken, that must mean it had some intelligence, and therefore it was likely to have some self-identity. It was only common courtesy to respect that, and if there was one thing the Vallière family was big on, it was common courtesy, which was less and less worthy of its name with every passing year.

"_You may call me Kū. Not very original, I know."_

"Kyou?" she stated hesitantly, trying the foreign word on her tongue.

He tilted his head. " _Close enough."_

"A very fine summon, Mademoiselle de la Vallière," Professor Colbert said, a proud smile on her face. "I do not recognize its affinity alignment, but it appears a majestic familiar nonetheless."

"Thank you Professor," she said. "Professor, Daniel, be known to... 'Kyou'. _Kyou, be known to Professor Colbert, who teaches Fire magic at this institution, and Daniel de Rochefort, a fellow student."_

"_Enchantée_," her familiar murmured with an inclination of his head. The Professor and student returned it.

"And that concludes the Springtime Familiar Summoning Ritual," Professor Colbert said loudly, his voice easily carrying in the shocked silence of the courtyard. "A small, but high, function shall be held here in honour of your new familiars, in an hour from now. Attendance is not voluntary."

Several girls gave out shorts shrieks of surprise at the announcement. Louise, like many, scoffed at them for not laying out everything beforehand. Not that Louise was any better, as she had not prepared either, but Louise, unlike many of her peers, could attend a Royal Ball and not draw questions on her appearance merely thirty minutes after falling face-first in mud. She, unfortunately, spoke with the voice of experience in this matter.

"Come on, Kyou," Louise said. "Let's go prepare ourselves."

"_As milady commands."_

– – – –

Exactly twenty-five minutes and fourteen seconds after arriving at her room, Louise was almost ready to attend the social function to be held at the hour's lock. Only her familiar remained. His gold fur with the strange purple markings was immaculate, but she passed a brush through it a few times nonetheless.

"_If I may ask, what is transpiring, Mistress?" _he said, a hint of distaste directed at the brush in his voice.

"_Due to the importance of the assorted nobility summoning familiars today, it was decided to gather and make a social function out of it. Every noble in the country will be attending, including the Princess, and Mother."_

"_I understand," _her familiar said, the human words still strange from his mouth.

"_So, tell me," _Louise said. "_What kind of fox are you? I initially thought you were a Lightning fox, but Lightning foxes do not have nine tails, or those strange markings."_

"_That is because I am not a fox, Mistress. I am a _Kitsune_. The distinction may appear to be a matter of translation at first, as _Kitsune_ directly translates as 'fox', but the differences are quite substantial."_

"_Enlighten me."_

He dipped his head. "_Very well. The foxes, unlike the _Kitsune_, are divided into several distinct races. Lightning foxes can only breed with other Lightning foxes, Fire with Fire, and so forth. _Kitsune_, on the other paw, are all one race, and whatever elemental alignment we have is influenced by both parents, but ultimately random."_

"_So Lightning can breed with Fire, and produce Water?" _Louise asked.

"_Correct, Mistress."_

"_What element are you?" _she asked, because his element would be her element. That was the way the Ritual worked.

"_I am a follower of the ways of _Amatsu-Mikaboshi_," _Kū admitted softly. "_Just like you."_

"_I am not familiar with that name, _Kyou," she said, ignoring the reference to herself. "_Who is it?"_

"Amatsu-Mikaboshi _is the god of chaos, disorder, darkness, the absence of Creation," _Kū answered. "_He who was present when _Ame-no-Minakanushi-no-Mikoto_ shaped Creation, though some clans have recently called _Amatsu-Mikaboshi_ the hallowed name of the Creator. The two are not the same, however. _Amatsu-Mikaboshi _is a deity of destruction. _Ame-no-Minakanushi-no-Mikoto _is a deity of creation."_

Louise frowned. Gods? "The only God is Founder Brimir," she said, not bothering to switch to Frankish. The ancient tongue was tiring to speak, and while she appreciated the practice, her familiar had better get used to Tristrainian. "What are you talking about?"

"_Did Founder Brimir, as you call him, shape Creation?"_ her familiar replied, and she grumbled at the fact that he _could _understand current Tristrainian. "_Bring entire planets, entire universes into being? Did he create life from nothingness?"_

"Not to the best of my knowledge," Louise admitted. "But there's no way to know for certain."

"_I suppose there is not," _Kū conceded.

A knock at the door filled the silence immediately followed the fox's admission.

"Enter!"

The door opened, and three figures could be easily seen in the full mid-day's light streaming in through the balcony. "Mother! Henriette!" she cried, surprised. Not because they showed up, but because they were twenty minutes later than she thought they'd be.

"Daughter," Karin de la Vallière said. "I am pleased at your success."

Despite herself, Louise felt her cheeks flush slightly. Praise from her mother was rare.

"It is indeed a grand event," Henriette said, her eyes twinkling away in amusement. "Many were very surprised to see a nine-tailed fox, a species not recorded anywhere."

"That is quite the understatement," Karin said as she seated herself in the second-most comfortable chair. "Viscount Wardes was _sputtering_, like a commoner."

"It was quite the amusing sight, really," Henriette said, turning her eyes to the fox in question. "So this is it?"

"Him," Louise corrected. "His name is... Kyu?"

"_You are getting closer with every try, Mistress," _he said in good humour. "Kū_."_

"Kuu," Henriette attempted, drawing a nod from the fox.

"_You are the closest yet."_

"Well met, Kuu," Henriette said politely. "I am Princess Henriette, childhood friend of your Mistress. This is my loyal guard, Agnes D'Angleterre."

The woman that remained in the doorway turned around slightly, and looked the fox straight in the eyes. The fox looked back, and they mutually assessed each other. After a minute, Kū chuckled.

"_I like her," _he stated factually, then turned his attention to Karin. "_And you are my Mistress' forefather. Or foremother, as is the case."_

"I am, Kuu," Karin said. "Karin de la Vallière."

"_Well met, Karin de la Vallière."_

"As pleasant as watching your familiar is, Louise," Karin said, not taking her eyes off the familiar in question. "We did not come here for idle chatter. We wish to know what element your familiar is."

"He's infuriating about it," she said. "Just kept referring to gods when I tried to answer."

"Gods?" Henriette asked.

"Yes," Louise said with a nod. "Gods, plural."

"We will discuss that later," Karin said with a frown. "You, Kuu, what element are you?"

"_I am a follower of the ways of _Amatsu-Mikaboshi_," _Kū calmly repeated. "_He who kills the light, he who drives away order, he who embraces the cold chill of nothingness and makes it bend to his will."_

"Kuu," Louise growled. "Answer the question clearly and truly, that is an order!"

A curious expression settled on her familiar at her order. She couldn't identify everything, but what she could was... approval?

"_Very well," _he said, inclining his head once more. "_To use an epithet you are familiar with, I am a Void Fox."_

Both Vallières and the Princess looked at each other with the same expressions. It was, half a minute later, that the Princess stated a crasser version of what was on all their minds.

"Well, _merde."_


End file.
